


Discovering (The Damon Excerpts)

by Strangeredlantern, Vague_Shadows



Series: Desolate [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional Baggage, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Self-Hatred, same warnings of fucked up shit as the rest of the series I guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 62,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangeredlantern/pseuds/Strangeredlantern, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vague_Shadows/pseuds/Vague_Shadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flashes of the time between Determined's end and the prologue of Dedicated...and maybe more?</p><p>A glimpse at Damon's journey as he adjusts to life in the pack that loves him and Derek and Isaac's realization that Stiles has DID and the complications arising around it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It would seem that we weren't quite as capable as we thought of letting go of Damon.
> 
> On the first pass through, I was so eager to get to the kiddos that Damon took a backseat; now Strangeredlantern and I are going back to give him more the consideration/screen time he deserves :) 
> 
> (plus, let's be honest, we just missed the angst a lot too...)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

[Excerpt from Determined Ch. 20 - (for reference)]

 

            Isaac walks in from his last final to find Stiles ransacking the kitchen table in what’s clearly a desperate attempt to locate something he’s lost.

            “Project to turn in?” Isaac guesses, and Stiles turns to face him, eyes wide in panic, seemingly on the verge of tears.

            “I can’t find the list,” he replies forlornly.  “I know I left it here, Isaac. I know I did.  Derek gave it to me, and I put it there, but now it’s gone and it’s nearly time for lunch and I can’t remember if it said two protein or three and—”

            “Hey, hey, deep breaths, Stiles,” Isaac soothes.  “No punishments in this pack, remember? It’s okay.  I’ll help you find the list later, but I memorized it.  It’s two protein.  Derek won’t be angry if lunch is late.  You want me to help you?”

            He studies Isaac a moment, looking for the trick in the words, before he nods.

            “Please, Isaac? I’ll memorize the list once you help me find it. I promise. I won’t lose it again.”

            “It’s okay. I don’t mind helping.  It’ll help me relax a little anyway.”

            “Thank you, Isaac.”

            They’ve just started getting together ingredients when Isaac hears Derek jogging up out back.  Stiles freezes where he stands, closing his eyes as he starts to tremble.

            “He won’t hurt you; I swear,” Isaac says gently.  “I’m going to go talk to him, okay?”

            Stiles nods, moving quickly to continue with the chili he’s planning to go along with sandwiches.  Isaac meets Derek at the back door.

            “Stiles is a little late on lunch,” Isaac says, meeting Derek at the door, resisting the urge to ask why the hell Derek left him alone while he was regressed.  “I promised him you wouldn’t be mad.”

            “What?”

            “Stiles is—”

            “No, I heard you,” Derek replies, “but we ate lunch already.  PB&J before I went running.  He was staying to finish up his final paper for politics.  Is he regressed?”

            “Yeah, he was looking for the list so he could make lunch before you got back.”

            “What the hell? How did he know there was a list? And he didn’t shift when you walked in?”

            “No, he knew exactly who I was,” Isaac replies, only realizing now exactly how odd that is; Derek may always tell Stiles that Isaac will be coming home eventually, but Stiles never accepts his presence so easily.  “Stiles?” Isaac calls as he goes back into the house.  “Stiles, who told you about the list? Who gave it to you?”

            “Derek,” Stiles replies, confusion and worry burgeoning across his face.

            “When?”

            “Yesterday.”

            Isaac looks to Derek, unsure how to proceed from here.  Yesterday Stiles was fine, not learning how to function with them.  He remembers some other regression; he picked up where he left off.

           _Picked up from last episode? Are you Damon again?_

            “Stiles, what was your name before Derek gave you one?” Isaac asks.

           Stiles’ eyes dart from Isaac to Derek and the down to the floor.

            “Damon,” he mumbles quietly, “but I’m loyal to Derek now,” he adds firmly, looking back up.  “I like this pack. I want to be loyal to _this_ pack. I—”         

            “What happened before you were looking for the list?” Derek interrupts.

            “I—I don’t know,” Stiles admits.  “I promise I didn’t fall asleep, Derek. I _promise._  I just—I was showering after breakfast, like you told me to, and then I was here in the kitchen, and so much time had passed, _hours_ , but I don’t—I think—my mind was weak, Derek. I lost time.  But I didn’t sleep. I wasn’t being lazy.  I _want_ to do all the things on the list. I just—I don’t know what happened.”

            “You’re not in trouble. I’m just trying to understand.  What did we do yesterday, Stiles?”

            “The humans made a meal for the pack,” Stiles replies, “Thanksgiving,” he amends.  “We had Thanksgiving with the humans.”  Isaac and Derek must be doing a poor job of masking their reactions to the words because Stiles stutters, “R-right? Didn’t we, Derek?”

            “No, Stiles, that was two weeks ago,” Derek replies.  “That’s why you’re confused.”

            “Oh,” Stiles says, biting at his bottom lip.  “I forgot things again.  I didn’t mean to, Derek. I—”

            “You don’t have to apologize,” Derek replies.  “Thank you for being so eager to help as soon as you—came—came back I guess?”

            “Of course, Derek.”

            “We can go ahead and make chili,” Isaac says.  “It can simmer until dinner.  It’ll make it even better.  You could call Morrell maybe?” he asks Derek.

            “Yeah, think I will.”

*****************************************************

            “Holly Morrell,” she answers when Derek dials her number.

            “This is Derek. We have—I’m not sure if it’s exactly a problem, but a new kind of regression thing with Stiles.”

            “A new regression?”

            “He picked up this regression where the last one left off.”

            “I see,” she replies.  “Anything else? Remembering different Alphas?”

            “He doesn’t seem to.  Should we be worried about this? Is it some kind of break or is it good?”

            “You know as well as I do nothing is certain in mental health, Derek, especially not Stiles’ mental health.”

            “Yeah, but—what do we do?”

            “Whatever you normally do,” she recommends.  “I’d like to speak with Stiles as soon as he’s back to himself though.”

            “Sure,” Derek replies, trying not to sound disappointed that she hasn’t got more of an answer.  “Bye.”

********************************************************

            Stiles knows it’s not his business to listen to the Alpha’s call.  It’s not his place to wonder and ask questions.  He still can’t help trying to figure out why Isaac and Derek seem so thrown.  Last time they seemed so prepared, as though this happens frequently, they even spoke like it happens frequently. Now they both seem worried and confused.

            “Did I just forget the two weeks?” he wonders, trying to piece it together.  “I was still good, right? I didn’t do anything—”

            “It’s complicated, Stiles,” Isaac replies apologetically.  “Yes, you were good. You were just—different.”

            “I can be whatever he wants me to be.  I can learn to—”

            “It’s not that.  You’re not doing anything wrong.  You’re just—not exactly yourself right now.”

            “I—I don’t understand,” he admits because he’s supposed to ask questions when he’s confused.  “I do what Derek told me, what you told me; this is what I did last time.”

            “I know—just—you remember us saying you learned the punishments from alphas who weren’t Derek? That he didn’t teach you to be afraid?”

            “Yes.”

            “The truth is he—he didn’t teach you any of that.  You were just friends before.”

            “What?”

            “You were friends before you were in our pack.  Other alphas turned you, and you learned their rules not ours.  You kind of—you can let go of the rules sometimes and go back to how you were when we were all just friends.”

            “But I’m still good, right? You said I was still good.”

            “Yes, Stiles.  He’s not getting rid of either version of you.  You always have a place in this pack.”

            “Always,” Derek confirms, walking back in.

            “Thank you, Derek,” Stiles says.

            “I know you’re confused,” Derek says. “Honestly, we are too.  You’ve never—usually your episodes are all individual.  You usually reset completely.”

            “Oh, well, I—this is good, then, right? It’s helpful that I know some things? So you don’t have to waste time teaching,” he concludes hopefully, daring a small smile.

            “Teaching’s not a waste. We don’t mind. Ask as many questions as you want to.”

            Stiles hesitates, biting back the question that’s in his mind since Isaac says he was a friend to the pack before he was in it.

            “When—” he begins despite his better judgment.  “Never mind.  I—it’s not important,” he amends, turning back to his task.

            “You can ask anything you want,” Derek assures.  “‘When’ what?”

            “When did you start calling me Stiles? Is Stiles the friend? From before? I should be like Stiles, not like Damon?”

********************************************************

            It’s more than a little bizarre to hear Stiles talk about himself like he’s two people.  It’s even more bizarre that Derek’s having trouble finding an answer to the question that isn’t “yes.”

            “You’re not two people,” Isaac argues.  “It’s—you’re always you, Stiles.”

            “So Stiles was the friend?” he asks.  “I mean I,” he amends quickly.  “I was the friend and other alphas made me Damon.”

            As much as Derek may completely separate Stiles and regressed Stiles in his mind, he’s never delved into the comparison.  They’re a package; one doesn’t determine the other.  They’re two sides of one coin.

           _But they are different.  He’s exactly right, he was Stiles and they made him the shell—Damon, whatever he wants to call it—and yes I want you to just be regular Stiles, but I can’t say that, because you can only be one or the other, not both.  This version of you can’t be the real Stiles.  It’s impossible._

           “Kind of,” Derek replies.  “If that’s the easiest way for you to think about it.”

            “How do I get back to Stiles? I need the memories?”

            “Yeah.”

            “I can take memories, Derek,” he offers.  “I can take as many as you’ll give me.  I’ll find Stiles—find me—in the memories.”

            As disconcerting is that Stiles clearly doesn’t identify himself as ‘Stiles’ right now, it’s even more disconcerting that not only does Derek want to go along with it, he doesn’t feel bad for wanting to go along.  It’s the simplest explanation they’ve ever had really.

            “You understand that—that the way you are now isn’t bad, don’t you?” Derek asks.  “You know that it’s okay if you have trouble getting the memories back.  However long it takes, and even if they never come back, you still have a place.  You’re still loved and wanted and kept.  Damon, Stiles, whoever you are.”

            “Yes, Derek, I understand; thank you.”

“Good.”

“But I want—I want to be Stiles I think,” he adds tentatively.  “If that’s okay?”

Derek nods, words failing him, looking to Isaac for help.

“You'll never stop being Stiles,” Isaac says reassuringly.  “You’re always Stiles; you don’t ever have to be Damon again.  Derek can help you though, if you want to see more of your usual self?”

“Yes,” Stiles says with a nod.  “I want to be usual Stiles.”

*********************************************************

  


**[skipping a day or two - ‘Discovering’ original text begins]**

 

            Damon’s mind is so full of mesmerizing memories of happiness he’s starting to have trouble focusing wholly on his tasks.  He nearly broke a plate in the sink this morning when he washed dishes.  He almost overflowed Derek’s coffee cup when he took it to the kitchen to refill.  He tries to rein in his attention, but the wonderful scenes of picnics and dinners and games and laughter and _family_ are so tantalizing that his training is failing him.  He finds himself wishing to keep the name the Alpha took away, knowing even in the few days he’s had with this pack and the dozens of memories shared that he will _always_ be loyal to this pack, and to Derek, an Alpha more kind and patient than Damon thought possible to serve.

            He stares out the kitchen window as he waits for the cupcakes he’s making to bake while Derek takes in a ball game in the den. Damon’s mind wanders to a memory his Alpha shared this morning, a memory of Derek laughing with him--well, with the _real_ Stiles anyway.  He closes his eyes to better focus as he replays the scene.  

There are pancakes in the skillet Stiles holds, and Derek reaches tenderly to wipe away at batter that must be smeared on Stiles’ cheek.  He talks about the day--that he’ll go shopping and get the groceries Stiles wanted and maybe they’ll have some of the others over to grill out and go to the pond--and though the memory is lengthy and Damon takes time to cherish every second of it; he wishes selfishly that it were even longer, never-ending.  Even more, he fantasizes what it might be like to _actually_ experience such a glorious day.

            Derek’s voice cuts across the daydream as his footsteps on the kitchen tile announce his presence.

 “Stiles?” he says in a tone that suggests it’s not the first time he’s called the beta’s name.  “Are you okay? I think your cupcakes are burning,” he adds, opening the oven door to pull out the tray.  

            Sure enough the tops that should be bright and golden are dull, browned and burned.  Damon’s stomach churns at the sight, reminded cruelly just how undeserving of his Alpha’s kindness he is.  He moves to kneel and only _just_ manages to stop himself, remembering at the last second that Derek’s asked him not to whenever he can help it.

            “I’m so sorry, Derek,” he laments, hoping his voice conveys the earnesty of his words as well as kneeling would have. “I--”

            “It’s okay,” Derek assures gently. “What happened?” Derek wonders.

Damon can’t help but marvel at how calm Derek remains, assessing the full situation instead of flying straight into fury.  He takes a little comfort in knowing the lesson to come will likely be much more lenient than he deserves.  He resolves to be as pliant as possible when Derek moves to correct his behavior.

            “I let my mind wander,” Damon admits, hanging his head in shame.  “I lost focus, Derek. I’m sorry.” He takes a breath to try and settle himself before he adds the appropriate quiet plea,  “Please teach me to be better, Derek.  I want to be better.”

            Again his knees almost give to send him to the floor where he belongs, but he keeps his feet, trembling as he holds to the counter to remind himself to stay up, knuckles turning white with the painfully tight grip.  He lasts only a few moments more before his legs give out of their own accord, shaking too badly to support him well even if the conditioning wasn’t screaming for him to sink down before his alpha.

            “I’m so sorry, Derek,” he whines again, both for the burned food and the kneeling.  

            “It’s really okay, Stiles,” Derek tells him.  “In all honesty my sweet tooth gets away with me. I can definitely handle a meal or two with a little less sugar.  Can you stand back up for me please?”

            “Yes, Derek.”

            “Great. Thank you,” he says, giving undeserved praise with an earnest smile; Damon loathes himself all the more for failing at any task for Derek.

            “I’ll get better about kneeling, Derek; I promise,” he swears.  “I--I want to learn to be better with that too,” he goes on, voice conveying his apprehension of the double lesson now to come.

“What’d I tell you about punishments in this pack, Stiles?”

            “That there are none,” he answers dutifully.  “Thank you, Derek.”

            “Right, so you don’t need to kneel for me, okay? Because I’m not going to punish you.”

            “Yes, Derek, thank you, but--but I _want_ to be better,” he murmurs to his feet.  “I want to learn.”

            “To learn?”

            “Yes, Derek.  I’m quick; it won’t take much to teach, and then--”

            “I don’t quite understand what you want me to teach you,” Derek says.  

            “The--the importance of focus?” Damon suggests, easily reciting ways he needs to improve. “Or--or not to waste food by preparing poorly--or that you don’t like me to kneel--or--or anything else you think I need to learn, Derek.”

            “Stiles, you know what happened and why the cupcakes burned, but it was an accident.  You know that I don’t like you to kneel, but it’s okay if it takes time to get used to it.  I don’t need to teach you what you already know.”

            “But I must not understand enough,” Damon laments. “I must--I must be too stupid to comprehend _how_ important focus is--to fail at such a simple task it’s--it’s shameful and moronic and--and--”

The words choke into a sob as he realizes just how poorly he’s executed his training.  Derek takes a step forward, and Damon is careful not to shy away, bracing for whatever method the alpha will choose to begin the lesson.  But when Derek’s hand comes down on his shoulder, the weight is gentle, comforting, and his voice is equally so when he speaks.

“It was an honest mistake, Stiles,” he soothes.  “I’m not disappointed in you; there is nothing to be ashamed of.  You are not a moron.  You’re not bad.  You don’t need to be punished for a simple accident.”

“But I--I want to be better. I can take whatever you think will help me learn to be better, Derek, please?” he implores.  “I want to do _everything_ right for you. _Always._ ”

“You’re fine as you are, Stiles.  You don’t have to worry about that. Okay?”

“Y-yes.”

He jumps at the sound of a car door slamming outside, signaling Isaac’s arrival home from class.  He should have heard the car approaching, but he wasn’t paying attention to that either.  Things are slipping through the cracks; he’s got to be more vigilant; he’s got to do everything in his power to be the kind of beta Derek deserves.

And he’s still clearly got a long way to go in achieving that level of proficiency.

“Hey, guys, I’m home,” Isaac calls through the house.

“Kitchen,” Derek replies, and Damon wants so badly to beg that Isaac not come and see his failure too, but he stays silent.  “Little mishap with the cupcakes,” Derek explains as Isaac walks in.  “Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh--uh--gotcha,” Isaac says.   “Anything I can do to help?”

“I can make more,” Damon offers quickly.  “I can--if Derek doesn’t want to teach right now then--”

“Damon, I told you that you don’t need me to teach you anything. I’m not going to hurt you. No punishments.”

_Then how do I learn?_

“Yes, Derek, yes, I understand that, and I’m grateful, _so_ grateful, but--but I--I need you to help me be better. Please? I want to be a better beta for you; I really do.  I don’t want to keep fucking everything up.  I’ll make it worth your time or Isaac’s or whoever will teach me to be better if you’ll just _please_ \--”

Derek’s tensing more and more as Damon continues his supplications.

_I’m making it worse; Fuck._

            And he chokes back his pleas, bringing a hand up to clap over his mouth.  Derek grimaces, and Damon’s knees give out on him yet again though he’s been instructed to stand.   When neither Derek nor Isaac moves or speaks or shows any sign at all of beginning a lesson, even in the face of such disobedience, a new possibility begins to sink in:

            _What if I’m not worth teaching? I’m not worth his time; I know I’m not, but--but--he’s so patient and kind and--and I hoped he would help even if I don’t deserve it._

The thought brings a wail that’s barely muffled by the hand he’s sealed over his lips and tears well in his eyes, spilling over, unbidden as both Derek and Isaac look on him with growing displeasure.

“Stiles, look at me,” Derek requests finally.  “I don’t understand what’s wrong.  Tell me why you’re so upset.  I told you I’m not worried about the cupcakes.”  

            “You’re not--not going to teach me anything; you don’t want to,” Damon says, praying Derek will contradict the words and tell Damon he just misunderstood.

            “I’m not going to lay a single finger on you because of what happened,” Derek confirms.

            Damon wails at the words, burying his face in his hands.  Derek takes a step back from his sniveling beta, and Damon can’t stop himself from throwing himself flat at his Alpha’s feet, trying to apologize in small hope of getting Derek’s mercy, but the words are garbled and the Alpha only backs away more quickly.  He speaks, but the words don’t process anymore, and Derek is gone in the next instant, retreating across the room and out of Damon’s grasp.

But Isaac quickly fills the gap Derek left, sitting beside Damon on the kitchen tile, guiding him back up from the floor and scooting Damon with him until they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder leaned against the oak boards of the cabinet under the sink.  Isaac’s got Damon’s hand in his, gripping tightly.  His words slowly start to break through Damon’s haze of panic.

            “Shhh, it’s okay; nothing bad is going to happen, Stiles; it’s okay; we’ve just got to talk through it so we all understand.  Just a little confusion, nothing to worry about.  It’s all going to be okay.”

            His voice is calm and even and earnest, and Damon trusts the words, prays they’re true.  He wills himself to breathe deep and calm down so he can “talk through” like Isaac wants.  It’s a shamefully long while before he can manage to quell the shaky, heaving breaths that accompany his tears, but Isaac is unbelievably patient, murmuring words of comfort as Damon struggles to compose himself.

            “Good, Stiles,” he praises.  “That’s it.  Good job.  You’re okay.  We’ll figure it out; we just need to talk about it.”

            “Y--yes, Isaac,” he hiccups.  “I think I can now.  I’ll try,” he swears.

            “Great; thank you, Stiles,” he says, still holding tight to Damon’s hand as he promises,  “It’s okay if you need to take your time.  Just--talk to me and help me understand, okay?”

            “I’ll do my best.”

            “That’s all I’m asking,” Isaac assures.  “So you’ve said you understand what Derek means when he tells you that this pack doesn’t punish betas. Is that right? You understand it?”

            “Yes.”

            “Good.  Okay, so--so then--why did you kneel for him like you thought he would punish you?”

            “I was kneeling for a lesson not a punishment.”

“A lesson?”

“Yes, to make me better; I want to be better for Derek; I know I still have so much to learn and--” he manages to stop the hysterical rambling threatening to follow and end with a simple repetition of “I want to be better,” instead.

“That’s very kind of you,” Isaac says, “but I guess we just--we’re miscommunicating on what you want Derek to do.”

“Derek can do whatever he likes!” Damon squawks.  “The Alpha knows better than me what will serve best to teach me.  I don’t think I can influence--”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing!” Isaac clarifies quickly.  “You’re always very respectful to Derek; he appreciates it.”

“I’m glad to.”

“But Derek’s taught you things and explained things to you before, and you don’t kneel,” Isaac goes on.  “I think that what you call a lesson and what we could call a lesson may be different.  We aren’t going to hurt you to teach a lesson.”

“Then how--but I don’t understand how else--that’s how idiotic betas like me _must_ be trained,” he replies. “It was such a simple task and I should have done flawlessly but--but I ruined it and--and so now I need--I should have it carved or beaten in to be sure I--”

“Stop,” Isaac interjects, “Don’t talk about yourself like that, Stiles.  That’s not--none of it’s true. Violence isn’t the only way to make you remember if you have trouble--and your mistake was entirely understandable anyways.  Whatever low opinion you might have based on your training, it’s not true; I promise you,”  Isaac counters.  “You’re not an idiot, Stiles; you’re maybe the smartest beta in this pack.”

“But I mess up--I have seizures--I--my mind is weak and weak betas have to be taught to be useful instead of burdening the pack with--”

“So that’s why you’re upset.  Derek says he won’t hurt you, but you think that in order to improve you have to be violently taught as a deterrent for repeating mistakes?”

“Yes, Isaac,” he confirms, relieved to hear his Second understanding his frazzled concerns.  “That’s how you train good betas, isn’t it? And I want to be good.”

“That’s not how it works in this pack.”

“But what if--I don’t think I can learn it all on my own, Isaac; I _need_ you or Derek or one of the others to help me.  I’m sorry to be such a bother, but--”

“We’ll be happy to help you, Stiles.  We’ll explain anything and everything as many times as you need us to, but you _are_ more than intelligent enough to understand; you’ve done an incredible job just the past couple of days.  We’re never going to resort to hurting you for the sake of making you ‘better’.  You are already a _fantastic_ beta, just as you are.  Isn’t he, Derek?”

“Of course,” Derek agrees readily from his place across the room.  “Don’t worry about being better; just be as you are, and we’ll all figure things out soon enough; no pressure; no need for anyone to get hurt; we’ll just work on it a little at a time.  We've got complete faith in you, Stiles, so try to trust us to help you adjust, okay?”

"Yes, Isaac, of course."

_I trust you and Derek with everything.  I just wish I could understand how you can possibly be so good to a wretch like me._

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

            Damon feels Isaac’s gaze from across the room and turns away from the picture he’s ogling over: Derek, Isaac, and Stiles laughing together, the moment immortalized in a frame that reads, “Just Married” It’s displayed proudly on the mantelpiece beside a pack photograph and a few other candids, but none of the others compare to the moment of euphoria captured on their wedding day.

            “You okay, Stiles?” Isaac wonders gently.

            “Yes, Isaac,” he answers immediately, though the words stick in his throat a bit, and Isaac frowns at the sound.

            “You can be honest with me; you know that.”

            “It’s true, Isaac; I swear it’s true! I’m okay; I’m fine; I’m happy and grateful and--”

            “Hey, hey, I’m not questioning that you want to be here, Stiles; I know you do.  You’ve got a place here,” he soothes as he approaches.  “Believe me?” he wonders, offering a hand that Damon can’t believe he’s allow to take.

            He reaches slowly to place his hand in Isaac’s as he nods.  “Yes, Isaac; thank you.”

            “You can be happy to be with this pack and still have moments that are a little worrying or sad or confusing for you; it’s okay for things to bother you,” Isaac goes on.  “You can talk about anything that might be on your mind.”

            Damon hears the request to share in Isaac’s kind words, and he turns his gaze back to the picture on the wall, biting at his lip before saying, “This was the wedding day.”

            “That’s right,” Isaac confirms, “but the marriage doesn’t mean that you _owe_ us, Stiles; it’s just a commitment for us all to be supportive of each other, something beyond the pack bond so that it’s more equal.  You understand that for the most part, don’t you?”

            “Yes, Isaac.”

            “Good.”

            “I just,” he hesitates, struggling to voice the fears and worries swirling inside him; because they didn’t marry Damon; they married Stiles; they want _Stiles_ back.  This is the man and the type of memory that Damon is supposed to emulate, but no matter how well he behaves he never seems to get the kind of carefree smile from Derek or Isaac that Stiles managed in this picture.

They _adore_ Stiles; they don’t pity him.   _Stiles_ is the one who belongs here.

“Anything you’d like to say is okay,” Isaac assures.

But Damon’s words stick in his throat, and his cowardly mind chooses to voice a minor truth instead of the great worry that’s been eating away at him:

“It just seems like a nice memory,” he tells Isaac; it’s true enough, and Damon even manages a small smile.  “I’m sorry I forgot so much of everything.”

“That’s okay; you’ll get it back.  Derek’s happy to keep sharing memories with you in the meantime.  Nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, Isaac; thank you.”

And when the Alpha comes home an hour or two later, bearing groceries for Damon to choose any meal he could possibly want to make, Isaac brings up the topic again.  Talking with Derek about the day of the reception--how they had the ceremony for family after a private one for just the three of them--and then mentioning that Damon commented on how nice a memory it must be.

“I could share a little if you want,” Derek offers kindly.

_No, please don’t, Derek._

But the Alpha seems so happy to have Damon showing a preference for any kind of memory.  Not to mention that Damon would obediently take any memories Derek decides to give.  He won’t contradict the plan.  He’ll be good and amiable and take whatever he’s given like a good beta should.

“Anything you’d like to share, Derek,” Damon says dutifully.

He closes his eyes and grits his teeth as Derek puts a gentle hand on the back of his neck.

“Sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, Derek; thank you.”

And the gloriousness of Stiles’ wedding day hits Damon like a fucking freight train.

The tent glows with the light of hundreds of string lights twinkling.  The holly and mistletoe and fragrant garlands of evergreen give away the season, but inside with the pack--and more than the pack, faces Damon doesn’t know--it’s toasty and warm and--

The very air is alight with the merriment of the occasion, and Damon never knew any feeling of safety and love this exquisite could even exist.  

He stares in confusion at his own face just a few feet away before realizing that he has the Alpha’s vantage point for all these memories--a fact he’s still growing used to, despite all the lovely things Derek’s shown in the past few days.  Stiles takes one hand and Isaac his other, leading him toward the wooden panels laid out in the grass to form a dancefloor.  For a moment, Damon’s terrified to ruin the moment; whatever dance they expect he doesn’t know.  It doesn’t matter; Derek’s body glides gracefully with Isaac’s and Stiles’ in some sort of waltz as all eyes in the room focus on the newlyweds.  

Damon’s absolutely overwhelmed with emotions.  He’s not sure if he’s channeling the giddiness Derek felt in this moment or if it’s his own longing to _really_ belong in a moment like this.  Stiles grins adoringly at Derek as they spin, a gut-wrenching reminder that he’s every bit as loyal and loving toward the Alpha as Damon could offer--and _more_ of course.

“Admit it, Sourwolf,” Stiles says, “You’re glad to agreed to the dancing thing.”

“Yes, Stiles, I am,” Derek’s voice replies.

There’s such earnestly and tenderness in the way he says Stiles name--nothing like the hint of pain ever-present when he uses the title to address Damon--if Damon could sob, he would.  In the next moment they swap, Isaac coming in to join Derek in dance, smiling as they spin away from Stiles, looking back toward him with rapture as he tells Derek, “Look at how happy he is.”

“You look pretty happy yourself, Mr. Hale,” Derek replies, and the title Damon will _never_ earn twists like a knife in his heart.  

“Yeah, but Stiles looks like _Stiles_ today,” Isaac says.  “Happy--like all those horrible things never even happened.  Just--”

“Something in his eyes; I know,” Derek adds.  “It’s our wedding day; we all get a free pass from the ghosts for a while. Maybe it’ll even extend through the honeymoon.”

_A pass from the ghosts._

_Ghosts from trauma that haunts them all and ruins beautiful moments and steals Stiles away from them._

_Like me; I’m a ghost.  That’s all I can be--a ghost of Stiles but never the real thing, never the man they married and really love.  Never, ever good enough to be Mr. Stiles Hale.  I can’t. I don’t have it in me.  I’m just a piteous, broken, burdensome, ghost haunting this pack until Stiles can come home to them._

 

*********************

            Derek is in no way prepared for Stiles to pull away from Derek’s grip on his neck.  He’s always sat happily pliant before, but now he jerks away like he’s been electrocuted, throwing himself on the floor at Derek’s feet the moment he’s surfaced from the memory.

            “No more, Derek; _please_! I _can’t_!” Damon begs desperately.

Damon curls into a sobbing heap on the kitchen floor, both hands coming up to the back of his neck, clutching at the wound like he’s trying to prevent Derek trying again.  Damon wails like he’s dying, unintelligible words that nonetheless convey his utter misery.   Derek is convinced he’s managed to inadvertently deliver a death blow or something.  There’s no other explanation for the anguish Stiles is displaying.  

He kneels, desperately attempting to leach away pain, but it seems there’s none to be taken.  Isaac joins him at Stiles’ side, pleading that he tell them what’s wrong or where it hurts.

“What the hell did you show him?” Isaac demands.  

            “It was the right memory,” Derek insists.  “I know it was, Isaac; I saw it, too.  It was just--just the first dance--ya know that waltz thing Lydia came up with for us--we were just dancing and talking and--it was--it was great.”

            _It was one of the happiest memories of my life.  I don’t understand what went wrong.  It should have made him so happy._

“Okay, well, then maybe it’s--it’s the psychosomatic stuff again?” Isaac suggests.  “What else could it be? I don’t know what we do for him.  Get him to bed I guess; call Deaton? Just in case?”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, more than willing to let Isaac take point on the plan of action right now.  

Derek scoops Stiles up in his arms as Stiles continues to sob uncontrollably; Isaac stays behind in the kitchen to call Deaton.  Hopefully if this _is_ a psychosomatic episode it will pass quickly.  Maybe it’ll even bring memories back with it.  He lays Stiles gently on the bed, expecting him to take the fetal position and hide away under the covers from light and sound.  Instead, he immediately tugs at the hem of his shirt, stripping it up and off desperately as he finally finds his words.

“Yes,” Stiles chokes through his tears, “Yes, Derek, still wanna be useful,” he blubbers.  “Anything else I can do. I wanna be good.  I’m good at this. I know how to do everything you want me to, Derek.   _Anything._ ”

Derek seizes Stiles’ wrists to stop him when he begins to unbutton his jeans, and Stiles freezes at the touch.

“No, Stiles, don’t do that,” Derek says firmly.

“Derek, _please_!” he begs.  “Please let me show you! I _swear_ that I’m at _least_ good at this; even if I’m not good for anything else, I’ve got the training for _anything_ you’ll let--”

“No, Stiles! I don’t want that from you,” he interjects in as calm a tone as he can manage at the moment.  

And with that sentiment, Stiles is completely incoherent again, sobs heaving his naked chest until he’s choking to draw breath. Derek feels utterly helpless, but he sits on the bed next to Stiles, pulling him into an embrace and hoping the move won’t make it worse.  Stiles clutches at Derek’s shirt, fisting the material tightly in shaking fingers as he buries his face in Derek’s chest.  Isaac comes slowly to the doorway, taking in the pitiful scene with tears in his eyes as he tucks his phone back into the pocket of his jeans.  Derek waits for Isaac to offer some sort of guidance, but it seems Isaac is at just as much of a loss as Derek.

“Deaton’s on standby,” Isaac informs quietly, as he comes to join them on the bed, rubbing Stiles’ back gently as Stiles continues to cry, “in case he starts to show any signs of being physically hurt.”

Derek nods, not trusting his voice.  Isaac murmurs reassurances to Stiles that it’s all okay, and Derek follows suit.

“You’re safe; no one’s going to hurt you; it’s okay; whatever it is, it’s okay; don’t cry; don’t worry; it’ll be okay…”

Eventually Stiles does mange words again, but it’s only “I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry” over and over again until Derek feels like his heart is shattering into a billion pieces.

 

****************************************

 

_I don’t want that from you. I don’t want that from you. I don’t want that from you._

The Alpha’s words repeat over and over and over again, reminding Damon that not only can he never hold a candle to the role Stiles plays in this pack but that Derek doesn’t even want Damon for the tasks he _does_ excel at performing.   He knows he’s behaving horribly, ignoring the Alpha and Second’s pleas to say what’s wrong or stop crying, and he can’t believe that neither have struck him yet; they clearly can’t stand his sniveling.  Yet they patiently stand by, soothing their undeserving beta until he’s so hoarse and exhausted that the sobs give way to quiet whimpers instead and the tears dry on his cheeks because there are no fresh ones left.  

“Tell us how to help you,” Isaac requests for what Damon knows is well over the dozenth time.   “Please, Stiles?”

He utters the name with such love and tenderness that it rips a new wail from Damon and he can’t stop the outburst as he brings his hands up to cover his ears and pleads, “Don’t use his name, Isaac, please, please, don’t make me hear it!”

 

*******************************************

 

“You don’t want to be called Stiles?” Isaac asks, trying to clarify his husband’s anguished supplication.  

“You don't have to use his name to describe me. Beta is okay; beta is enough, _more_ than enough.  I have his pack; I don't need his name too! I don't deserve it.  I won't _ever_ be able to; I don’t know how to be _that_ good for you and Derek; I have no idea; I can’t; I’m too messed up and broken and stupid and--and---I'm so sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry,” he laments, on the verge of his previous incoherent sobbing.

“Shhh, St--” Isaac soothes, just barely stopping the name from leaving his lips again.  “Shhh, it’s okay; you don’t need to be sorry; thank you for sharing what was wrong.  That was really useful.  And we don’t--don’t have to call you that if you don’t want that name.”

“Th--thank you,” he sniffles.  “I’m so sorry; I know you both prefer it but--but--the name doesn't sound the same when you say it to me," he goes on.  "And I know I'm not as good as him; I can’t be; I don't deserve his name.  You don't have to waste it on me.  I'm so sorry. I’ll find ways to make up for it; I swear I will.”

“We don’t expect you to be exactly like you used to be,” Isaac assures.  “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“And if--if you feel like you’d rather be--be called something else, it doesn’t matter what we think,” Derek puts in.  “But you’ll have a name.  You’re more than just a beta to us.”

“I can--can be Damon,” he offers, and there’s no mistaking the desperate hope underneath the words, “Loyal ‘til death to you Derek--to the whole pack.  I can be useful and loyal and _anything_ you need me to be. I _promise._ ”

“Damon’s a great name,” Derek replies, as Isaac forces back bile at the memories of their captor calling Stiles that months ago.  “I’m happy to have a loyal beta like you in the pack.  We love you, no matter what.  We’re loyal to you, too; that’s the other meaning in that name if you want to use it.  You’re loyal ‘til death but so are we, okay?”

“How are you so good, Derek?” Stiles--Damon?--marvels.  “Thank you! Thank you _so_ much!”

“Anything we can do to make things easier for you, D--Damon,” Derek replies.  “We don’t mind a bit. I’m glad we got this cleared up.”

 _But it’s not cleared up,_ Isaac thinks to himself, mind whirring away to sort out everything that’s happened as Damon continues to calm down.

“I--I can make dinner now,” Damon offers quietly, reaching slowly for the shirt he cast off on the bed.

“You don’t have to,” Derek reminds as Damon dons his shirt, wiping away tears with his still-shaking hands.  “If you need a little while to just relax that’s okay.”

“I like having work to do,” Damon answers earnestly, “and you brought such good supplies to choose from-- _and_ you’ll let me have my own name so I--I--I _want_ to cook, Derek; please?”

“Of course; if that’s what you want.”

“Yes, Derek; thank you!”

He hurries off to the kitchen, apparently catching his second wind at the prospect of picking out what to prepare for dinner.   Derek reaches to lace his fingers through Isaac’s, breaking Isaac from his thoughts.

“What’re you thinking?” Derek wonders.

“I don’t know,” Isaac answers, “Just--trying to understand what just happened.”

“Not so bad though, just another adjustment; it’s fine,” Derek replies.

But Isaac isn’t so sure.

They’ve called all Stiles’ episodes regressions, assuming the problem was his semi-fluid memory, tampered with to the point of being completely unreliable.

_But what if it’s more than that? What if it’s worse?_

He’s not just confused because of memory loss; he’s getting memories back, but it’s like he can’t sync them with himself.  He seems to be thinking of himself as a separate entity just trying to mimic Stiles.   

“You thought of something,” Derek says.  “I know that look, Isaac.  What’s the matter?”

Isaac mentally berates himself for not considering the possibility sooner.  He’s a fucking psych major; how could he not see?  He memorized the definition weeks ago for a quiz:

_“Dissociative identity disorder_ _is a dissociative disorder involving a disturbance of identity in which two or more separate and distinct personality states control an individual's behavior at different times.thought to be an effect of severe trauma, usually extreme, repetitive physical, sexual, or emotional abuse”_

_Holy shit._

_It’s not supernatural amnesia._

_It’s DID._

“I think I need to call Holly.”

 

*****************************************

 

            By the time he’s done with dinner, Damon has managed to collect himself again.  He still can’t believe how wonderful both his alpha and second have been about this outburst.   Not only does the Alpha have no plan for punishment, he’s trying to make it _easier_ on Damon; they wanted to understand what was wrong; they’re trying to _help,_ readily bending their own behavior to accommodate Damon’s fragility rather than demanding he rise to their expectations.  

            _How is this real? How is this possible? That a pack so merciful and kind even exists, much less than I’m allowed to be part of it!_

Damon has absolutely no idea how he’ll ever manage to convey the depth of his gratitude; but he’s going to spend the rest of his life using any and every combination of words and actions he can to show Derek and the rest of this unbelievably wonderful pack that he’ll live up to the name he’s permitted: loyal to them all until death--because after just his short time with the Hale pack, the idea of serving any other seems unbearable.

            He sets the table quickly and then goes to the back porch where Isaac and Derek sit talking over a large, heavy book--a textbook? With highlighted portions.  Damon looks away quickly, not wanting to seem nosey.

            “Dinner’s ready, Derek,” he informs quietly.  

            “Thank you, Damon,” Derek answers earnestly, and Damon can’t hold back the small smile, so he ducks his head bashfully

            “Of course, Derek,” he replies, hurrying back in the house so he’s ready to hand them plates when they walk in the kitchen.

            There’s a slight tension between the alpha and second as they take their seats at the table.  The worry it brings encroaches on the happiness Damon’s been enjoying, makes him even more eager to help fix whatever problem might be lurking.  He waits, dutifully consuming his dinner with his head and eyes down, hoping they’ll breach the topic soon as dispel the silence that’s building.

            “Damon, I think we owe you an apology,” Isaac says finally.

            He snaps his head up in surprise at the words.  “An apology? No, Isaac, everything is _wonderful_ here! There’s nothing you--and not to _me._ I’m--you and Derek--I don’t need an apology for anything!” he assures, thoroughly baffled at what Isaac might _possibly_ mean.

            “I know you don’t think we’ve done anything wrong, but we--we let you down with some important--”

            “No! I’m not let down! Not _ever._ I’m okay. I’m good. I--”

            “Damon,” Derek cuts in, gentle but firm, and he ceases his ramblings immediately.  

            “I’m sorry, Isaac; I didn’t mean to speak over you. I only meant--”

            “I appreciate what you’re saying,” Derek says, “and we’re glad that you’re happy with us.  We’re not questioning _at all_ that you want to be here.  Isaac just needs to explain some things, okay? So don’t--don’t feel like you need to explain wanting to stay.  This isn’t about that.”

            The Alpha wants him to stop his idiotic rambling, but as always, he finds a kind way to say it.  Damon receives the message underneath the words and shuts his mouth firmly as he nods.

            “I could probably do better at explaining this too,” Isaac says with a sigh, biting his lip.  “So let’s--let me--Damon do you remember when we were talking about the difference between Stiles before the alphas took him and after?”

            “Yes, Isaac.”

            “And you said that Stiles was the friend, and the Alpha pack made Damon, and, well--I didn’t really understand yet that you were a lot closer to the truth than I was.  We think that, based on some of the symptoms that are starting to stack up that Stiles--that you _and_ Stiles--have something called Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

            Isaac stops there, leaving Damon utterly confused for a moment or two before Isaac finds words again.

            “So basically what we _think_ is going on, is that--Stiles went through a lot of trauma under the Alphas.  Afterwards, he would revert back to training that they taught him, and we assumed it was a problem of memory loss.  Memory manipulation was a very big part of the torture Stiles went through, so it seemed to make sense, until--until you--your reactions and understanding and--and being so certain your name was Damon, even though that title doesn’t really have anything to do with the Alpha pack torture.”

            _Please don’t tell me I can’t have the name anymore. Please let me keep it. Please? It’s only been a few hours.  Don’t take it back!_

“It’s not a bad thing,” Isaac says quickly.  “Don’t worry.”

            “Th--thank you, Isaac.”

            “It’s actually a really _good_ thing,” Isaac says.  “Because you helped us realize there was more going on with Stiles--you--both of you--than we originally thought.  Something we need to help you with, and now that we know about it, we can.  See--what we thought was Stiles losing memories, it was really his mind separating itself into two separate people, trying to split up the pain from everything he went through as a way to cope.  I think you’re here with a name of your own because there’s a new split.”

            “Oh,” Damon replies, unsure how else to respond.

            “And like I said, it’s _not_ a bad thing; don’t think you being here is a bad thing.  The whole reason I’m telling you this is because you should see that it’s _okay_ that you don’t feel like Stiles or want to be Stiles because--well, even thought you _are_ Stiles you also _aren’t_ Stiles, if that makes any sense? And we’re sorry that we didn’t understand it sooner and tried to make you think you needed to be someone that maybe--maybe you don’t want to be.”

            _I want to be Stiles; I just know that I can’t ever live up to that._

“You understand what I’m saying?” Isaac wonders.  “Mostly? I mean it’s--it’s complicated and we’re just now looking at what it might mean and everything, but I just--I want you to understand what’s happening.”

            “I--I just don’t--understand what you’d like me to do now that you know I’m not him.  I can still--I’ll try to be more like Stiles, and--”

            “That’s not what I’m saying,” Isaac interjects.  “In fact I’m saying the opposite.  You don’t _have_ to be like Stiles; you can be Damon, and it’s perfectly fine.  This disorder is something that has to be worked through and figured out, and we’ll get there eventually, but for now, you shouldn’t have to feel like you have to be someone that you aren’t--or that there’s anything wrong with who you _are._ ”

            “Thank you, Isaac.”

            _But I remember that conversation; I know you’d both rather have Stiles._

_I can’t be him, but I’ll make Damon the best substitute for Stiles that I can manage._

_I won’t let you down; I won’t let Stiles down._

_I’ll take whatever pain he split into me and carry it until Stiles is ready to take it back._

Damon doesn’t let himself wonder what happens if this disorder is cured.  Instead he just focuses on the happy thrill that runs through him at the sound of his name spoken with such care when Isaac says, “It’s the truth, Damon; we’re glad to have a beta like you in the pack.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for reading!! :D It's so lovely to have the band back together ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a while since last post! thanks for reading!

            “You did an excellent job with dinner tonight,” Isaac praises as he comes into the kitchen.   “Cooking for a whole pack is a big job.”

            “I was glad to, Isaac,” Damon replies honestly.  “It was a nice dinner,” he adds, “especially with my new name and understanding the pack with more memories now.  It was even better than Thanksgiving.”

“It was pretty awesome,” Isaac agrees.  “We try to do pack dinner as often as we can--at least every couple of weeks.”         

“Not all of the humans come,” Damon comments, curiosity guiding the words; he’s still trying to piece together how the pack dynamics work here, and tonight was a great firsthand lesson to take in the interactions.

“No,” Isaac replies, “but they’re not all _really_ involved with us.  Some just do holidays and things because they’ve got children in the pack--Jackson’s parents, and Lydia’s--but the supernatural is a bit much for them to deal with on a regular basis.  They like to keep their lives separate most of the time.”

“They _choose_ not to come?” Damon wonders incredulously.  “Even though Derek would let them come be treated like pack?”

“Not everyone wants to be in the pack; it’s okay.”

“It’s foolish,” Damon replies before he can think better of it.  “I mean--not that--if you say it’s okay, then it must be, Isaac; I’m sorry.”

“You want a pack so badly you can’t imagine people giving up a chance at one; from your perspective it is foolish of them, isn’t it?” Isaac says.  

Damon nods.  “Especially with the humans,” he says.  “That Derek doesn’t want them to take the bite, but he doesn’t want them to be hurt or used either.”

“We don’t think wolves or humans either one are more important.  Everyone’s valuable in this pack.”

“Yes, Isaac; I remember what Derek said.”

“That’s good,” Isaac replies.  

He moves to start putting away the dishes Damon has dried and set on the counter; Damon silently marvels at the simple act of comradery from a Second with every right to lord over his every move with an iron fist.  Isaac assists as though it’s second nature, and Damon wonders if he’ll ever _really_ grow accustomed to the genuine kindness of this pack.

“Anything else on your mind?” Isaac wonders.  “Any other questions? Things that were confusing or you didn’t quite understand? We can talk about any of it,” he offers.

Damon hesitates for a moment before admitting, “There was one thing that seemed--well, I just still don’t always understand how Derek doesn’t mind when some of the betas disagree or disobey, but then I saw the _human_ do it, and Derek didn’t say anything--not that I expect the Alpha to do anything on _my_ behalf but just--just to have a human ignore the Alpha’s instructions--shouldn’t--I felt like I should make him show the respect but--but Derek doesn’t like that--wouldn’t want us to hurt them so how--how do we make the humans respect him?”

“Oh, um, well, you’re right; Derek doesn’t want you hurting anyone, so you did the right thing, even if your training made you want to act.  That’s a really good job of remembering how Derek’s told you to interact with everyone,” Isaac answers.  

“Thank you, Isaac.”

“I’m not _quite_ sure I understand what you’re confused about though.  Can you tell me what happened? What made you want to correct someone?”

“The human--the sheriff--my--Stiles’ father,” Damon replies, struggling for a proper title before moving on. “Derek told them all to call me ‘Damon’ but he didn’t, not once.”

“Oh.”

“He started to say ‘Stiles’ every time--then call me ‘kiddo’ instead of ‘Damon’.  It wasn’t what the Alpha said to do; that’s disrespectful, isn’t it? It should be corrected.”

_It should be punished.  It should be stopped.  That a human dare to defy Derek’s authority in any way is unacceptable._

“I see,” Isaac says.  “He’s not trying to be disrespectful of Derek or of you; it’s just--it’s very difficult for him--all the things that have happened to Stiles--to you too.  You feel completely separate from Stiles, but when the sheriff looks at you, all he sees is the son that he raised from a baby.  I’m not sure he can really separate you from Stiles.  The idea of calling you another name--he’s just in a difficult position. It’ll probably take more time for him to adjust than the others,” Isaac supposes.

“And Derek’s patient,” Damon realizes, “like he’s patient with me.  If the human needs more time to learn my new name, then Derek will allow him the time.”

“Right,” Isaac replies.  “Derek’s patient.  He doesn’t mind.”

_Because Derek is so impossibly good to all of us._

“Damon, I know you’re still trying to understand the humans’ place in the pack, but you should use a name for him,” Isaac corrects gently.  “If you don’t want to call him ‘Dad,’ that’s okay, but call him ‘John’ or ‘the sheriff’, okay? Not ‘the human’.”

“Yes, Isaac, of course.”

“You remember everyone elses names?”

“The wolves Scott, Jackson, and Cora; the pack humans Lydia and Allison; the humans treated like pack Melissa and John,” Damon recites dutifully.  “And you and Derek of course,” he adds.

“Yeah, that’s good.  Just remember everybody’s got an identity of their own here within the pack; everyone’s got a place and a unique situation; Derek understands that.  We all try to.  That’s why we don’t have the hard rules like they used to train you; everything is subjective to the situation--with a few absolutes.”

“Like not hurting anyone.”

“Exactly.”

“I like this subjective pack,” Damon says, “but I’m not sure I can understand all of it.”

“You’ve got time,” Isaac reassures.  “Like you said, Derek’s patient.  We all are.  You be patient with us too.  It’ll make more and more sense the longer you’re with us.”

_I hope so.  I really do like it here.  I want to understand my place here and fill it well._

 

**********************************

 

            The human--Dad--comes over again the next morning; Damon meets him at the door, still uncomfortable with the idea of a human wandering the pack house unsupervised, no matter how much the others seem to trust him.  

            “Morning, kiddo,” he greets with a smile that’s too strained to be genuine.

            “My name is Damon,” he corrects, forcing his tone to remain even despite his frustration.  “Remember?”

            “Right, yeah,” the human agrees easily enough, “I thought you boys might like some coffee,” he goes on.  “I know you like making breakfast and all; don’t wanna step on your toes or anything, but I figured you wouldn’t mind this?” he wonders, clearly seeking Damon’s approval.

            “I don’t mind; it was good of you to bring the Alpha something and also not interfere with his breakfast,” Damon answers, mood lifting to see some of the respectful, loyal behavior Derek deserves, plus the additional fact that the human makes it clear he doesn't want to challenge Damon’s place serving Derek.  “Come in,” Damon bids.  

            “I brought for you and Isaac, too,” the human says with a nod to the three cups in the carrier.  “They’re not up yet?”

            “Barely,” Derek replies, as he enters the foyer.  “Morning, John.”

            “Morning.”

            “Breakfast will be ready soon, Derek,” Damon assures.   “The quiche is in the oven.  If you’d like something else while you wait, I can--”

            “No, no that’s fine, Damon; there’s no rush,” Derek interjects kindly.  “Have some coffee with us while you wait for the timer to go off,” he says, taking the cup that  the human’s offering him.  “If you’d like to,” he adds.

            “Y--yes, Derek; thank you,” Damon replies.

            “Here ya go,” the human says, handing Damon one of the remaining cups.  

            “Thank you,” Damon tells him dutifully.  

            Damon waits for Derek to start sipping his own coffee before taking a taste of his own.  He can’t stop the grimace as the overly sweet and creamy liquid washes over his tongue.   It’s more milk and sugar than coffee, and Damon longs to spit it out but can’t make a mess like that in the Alpha’s house so he forces himself to swallow the disgusting syrupy swill.

            “What’s wrong with it?” Derek wonders, smirk showing that he found the display more amusing than offensive, which Damon’s grateful for; he’s glad it was an offering from the human and not the Alpha so that he hopefully won’t be asked to finish the cup.

            “It’s _very_ sweet,” Damon replies, choosing neutral words.

            “Well, yeah,” the human says.  “How you always get it--well, I mean--I guess--maybe your tastes are a little different now,” he finishes, looking puzzled.

            “Stiles likes sweet coffee,” Damon concludes.

            “More creamer than coffee most of the time,” Derek confirms.  “I take it you’re not a big fan of it though? You’ve been drinking your coffee black, haven’t you?”

            “Yes, but I--I don’t want to be wasteful, Derek,” Damon replies carefully.

            _Please don’t tell me to drink it.  Please? I will of course, but I’d much rather not.  It’s just a small thing from the human.  It wouldn’t be so bad to throw it out, would it?_

“It’s alright,” Derek replies.  “You can stick it in the fridge and Isaac or I will reheat it later; it won’t go to waste.”

            “Yes, Derek.”

            “Why don’t you make yourself a mug of the coffee you already brewed so you can have it the way you like?”

            “Thank you, Derek,” he says with a smile, “and I’ll check breakfast.  Make sure it’s cooking all right.”

            “Thanks, Damon.”

            “I’m glad to.”

            _So glad to.  Glad to do anything at all for the Alpha who’s patient and kind and cares what my preferences are and is so generous with everything._

_I still can’t believe I’m part of pack that’s so wonderful._

*******************************************

 

            One moment Damon is pulling the quiche from the oven, pleased with the pleasant aroma that accompanies it.  Then the towel he’s using to take the pan out slips just a fraction of an inch, the hot glass searing his skin; rather than drop the pan, he holds on tightly, determined to get it safely to the counter before letting go.

But the kitchen around him disappears in an instant, replaced with another kitchen he doesn’t recognize and an Alpha whose eyes shine with bloodlust as he holds Damon’s hand down to the red hot burner of the stove. The stench of charred flesh assaults his nose, but the next moment everything else is overshadowed by the agonizing pain that finally registers, consuming his hand as he tries desperately to free it from the alpha’s grip.

            _Stop! No! Who are you? Why are you punishing me? You’re not allowed! Derek said so! What’s happening? Where the hell am I? Derek? Derek?! Help me!_

But the words are trapped in his mind, his mouth won’t move any more than the rest of him will, though finally, _finally_ his arm responds to the desperate desire to wrench his hand away as the Alpha tries to pull his arm forward to sear his forearm next.  It’s not the full struggle away Damon’s attempting, but it’s _something_ at least, and yet a portion of Damon’s mind is screaming for him to stay still and be obedient to his alpha.

            _But it’s not my Alpha. Derek’s my Alpha. This is a hallucination. Like the other flashes I get, just worse. Just broken mind making up horrible nightmares.  It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real._

_Derek’s my Alpha. I’m Hale Pack now._

_Right? Right?_

_Or was that the dream? Oh God, no, please, no! Derek!!!_

            And then the Alpha’s frees hand strikes, claws piercing through Damon’s elbow and down into the wood of the countertop, holding him there, helpless to pull away as a new section of his arm is exposed to the torture.  

            “Hold still, you little shit,” he thunders, “Or we’ll keep going all night until you understand that only _worthless_ imbecilic betas can’t figure out how to keep a meal properly warm until their alphas return home.  It’s simple timing, not rocket science.”

            “Yes, Alpha, I was--was--worthless and--and stupid--and--and--I wanna--be--better,” Damon gasps through the pain, though the words come unbidden from his lips.  “Th--thank you, Alpha,” he adds, hopeful tone in the words unmistakable.

            They seem to have the desired effect, and the Alpha sighs, as though the whole ordeal was merely some pointless inconvenience meant to annoy him.  

            He rolls his eyes at Damon as he says, “I don’t understand how you can _still_ manage to let yourself get distracted; you’re so attentive to the tasks when we have you training new betas.  I expect that level of attention to _everything,_ beta.  Understand me?”

            “Yes, Alpha. I’ll get better with my focus; I swear, Alpha; I swear! I can make it up to you. I’ll--”

            “Shut up,” he snaps.  “Get out of my sight.  Send the blonde beta to come salvage dinner.  You wait for me upstairs.”

            “Yes, Alpha, of course,” he agrees, dread spreading through him at the words.

            Damon’s not sure what happens next, but if this is where the training comes from, he knows that nothing good happens upstairs…

 _No, no, no,_ he thinks as his feet move of their own accord.   _It’s not real; it’s not real; I belong to Derek now.  I’m Derek’s! I’m Derek’s! Not yours! NO! Derek, help me!”_

And as quickly as the scene appeared it vanishes, leaving Damon on the kitchen floor, cowering against the cabinets with firm hands on his shoulders.  Derek’s there, inches away, soothing him, promising him he’s safe, swearing he’ll never let anyone hurt Damon.

            _Derek_.

            He doesn’t care that everything in his mind screams it’s not well-behaved to fling his arms around the alpha’s neck and cling to him like a sniveling, useless child.  He holds on like his life depends on it, horrified at the contrast to the nightmare that just played out and the kindness that replaced it.  Damon’s had flashes of moments, small hallucinations over the past days, hints of the memories locked away in Stiles’ head. But nothing like this; nothing so real that he couldn’t quickly ground himself back into his reality with Derek and Isaac and the others; nothing so real that he’s worried this life might _not_ be the reality.

            “I’ve got you, Damon,” Derek soothes, wrapping his arms gently around Damon and serving the beta’s desperate need for the comfort of his Alpha’s reassuring hold.

 _Too good to be true, isn’t he? He’s too good to be true,_ a voice points out cruelly, the voice of the Alpha he just left behind, ringing in his ears like he’s standing here in the kitchen with them.   _Can’t you tell this world is the dream? A worthless wretch like you could never deserve a reality like this._

            And Damon loses it completely, trying desperately to find the source of the voice, to fight the horrible alpha away from Derek and this pack and all the wonderful, wonderful things that such malice is sure to destroy.

 

*************************************

 

            Isaac’s woken slightly to the sound of the sheriff’s arrival and their general conversation, but it wasn’t hard to roll over and close his eyes for just a few minutes more of sleep.  He’s out like a light again until the sound of Damon’s screams have him out of bed and halfway to the door before he’s even fully awake.  He sprints toward the sound of the wails, hearing Derek’s attempts to calm Damon as he shrieks:

            “Stop! No! Who are you? Why are you punishing me? You’re not allowed! Derek said so! What’s happening? Where the hell am I? Derek? Derek?! Help me!”

            “I’m here, Damon; I got you,” Derek swears as Isaac rounds the corner into the kitchen.  

            Damon’s huddled against the counter, eyes wide and unfocused as he screams in response to a scene only he can see.  

            _Flashback?_ Isaac supposes, instantly aching at the thought of the countless horrors Damon could be reliving---or living  for the first time really, if he’s as compartmentalized as he seems.

Derek seems unsure how much contact to give, holding just Damon’s hand at first before moving to a more firm grip on Damon’s shoulder as the wailing continues.  John stands helpless in the corner of the kitchen, looking on with tears streaming down his face.  Isaac moves to put a hand on his father-in-law’s shoulder, realizing Damon’s not the only one here who needs consoling.

“He’ll snap out of it,” Isaac reminds quietly.  “He’ll come back.”

“Wasn’t once enough?” John demands bitterly.  “How is it fair that he relives it all over and over? This is--it’s--argh!” he says finally, frustrated outburst replacing words that aren’t enough to convey his anger; Isaac can empathize.

For one moment it seems the flashback has passed, Damon’s wails give way to silence and then he croaks, “Derek?” like he can’t believe his eyes, “Derek!” he cries more sure now, burying his face in Derek’s shirt and holding tightly around Derek’s neck.

“It’s okay; I got you, Damon,” Derek promises.

Damon’s on his feet in an instant, shifting to beta form as he scans the room around him as though attack is imminent.  

“No!” he rages. “Not here! You can’t be near this pack! I won’t let you! I won’t let you! You’re not my alpha; I belong to Derek! I won’t let you hurt Derek!”

“Damon, there’s no one here who wants to hurt me,” Derek soothes.

“It was a flashback,” Isaac says.   “Whoever you saw is dead now.  It’s all--”

“I can hear him! He’s here! He’s close! He--he--I’m--”

And then Damon’s shifting back to his human form, curling in on himself again as he brings his hands up to cover his ears, attempting to block a voice only he can hear.  Derek, Isaac, and John try their best to get through to him and convince him he’s safe, but Damon doesn’t respond to the reassurances, just clamps his hands tighter over his ears whining,

“No, that’s not true; that’s not true; I’m Hale pack,”

over and over and over again.

Until Isaac goes to find the sedative, feeling sick with the fact that this day has already held too many horrors for all of them.

_And we didn’t even make it past breakfast..._

 

************************

 

Derek carries Damon’s unconscious body up the stairs to what used to serve as just a guest room but he supposes it’s really Damon’s room now.  He lays him gently on the bed, the broken man who’s Stiles’ twin and yet so very, _very_ not Stiles.  The idea that this is potentially a very permanent part of their reality--reliving Stiles recovery all over again, almost from square one, enduring his fear and flashbacks and confusion and frustration like they only got him back yesterday--makes Derek sick.  Judging by the forlorn looks on Isaac and John’s faces Derek isn’t the only one who feels this way.

“I’m gonna get some more research done,” Isaac says quietly.  “Talk to Holly, maybe a couple of my professors.  There are treatments for DID.  If it’s Stiles’ way of coping then we just--just have to figure out how to make it work in his favor.”

“I just don’t understand how he can be so _different,_ ” John admits.  “Not just the coffee but the way he speaks and walks and hell just the way he _looks_ at me.  It’s like there’s nothing of my son left in there.”

“He’s there,” Isaac says firmly.  “He’s just got of other horrible things in his head too.  his mind’s dealing with it the best way it can manage--compartmentalizing.  We don’t understand it all, but we never really understand everything do we? We can still try to figure it out a little at a time, work with Damon, try to make every part of Stiles feel safe and at home.”

Derek nods his agreement, eyes scanning the room at Isaac’s mention of making Damon feel at home, and an idea strikes him.

“Hey, Lydia’s got some of her interior design magazines floating around the house, doesn’t she?” he wonders.   “Let’s see if we can find a couple.”

 

***************************************************************

 

            Damon feels groggy and his limbs feel like they’re made of lead when he tries to stir.  

            _Where am I? What happened?_ he wonders blearily.

“Hey, Damon? You awake?” Derek’s voice wonders gently, and he sits bolt upright at the words, struggling to remember what’s going on.

            “Yes, Derek, yes. I’m awake. I can do whatever--”

            “Calm down; stay in bed; it’s okay,” Derek tells him.  “I just want to talk a second,” he adds.  “You didn’t do anything wrong; nothing’s wrong.  We’re just trying to understand what happened.”

            “Oh, I--I just--I hallucinated and--and I couldn’t--it was so _real_ and--”

            “You’re okay now,” Isaac interjects. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs, and Damon does as he’s told, letting the act calm him.  “Good, Damon,” Isaac says.  “Try to stay relaxed okay? There’s nothing to excuse or apologize for; we just want to get some facts together so we can all understand. Do you mind if we ask some questions?”

            “No, I don’t mind, Isaac.”

            “Great, thank you.  Let’s just start with the beginning.  You were in the kitchen?” Isaac wonders.  “Derek said you went to check on breakfast?”

            “Yes, I took the quiche from the oven,” Damon recounts.

            “Did something happen just before the scene you saw? Or did it come out of nowhere?”

            “The dish towel slipped; I burned myself,” Damon replies, “and then I was in a different kitchen with a different alpha and _he_ was burning me.”

            There’s a sharp intake of break from the corner, and Damon’s eyes flit there for the first time, taking in the sight of the distraught human listening in.  He looks so horribly sad, but also furious, a quiet deadly fire burning in his eyes as they meet Damon’s.  For the first time he sees a hint of the kind of ferocity in this man that could make him useful and worthy of a place in a wolf pack.

_So angry at the thought of someone hurting me? No, not me. Stiles. Your son.  You’d kill anything that hurt him, wouldn’t you? That’s why Derek keeps you.  You’d protect his husband with your life; it’s a useful sense of loyalty to the alpha’s interest if not the alpha himself._

“I see,” Isaac says.  “Can you tell me what he looked like, Damon? The Alpha?”

“He--he had dark hair, cut short; tall and thin, I didn't--I wasn't looking--I was scared to and I couldn't turn my head, and--and--”  Damons answers.  “D--do you know him? Is he _real_?” Damon wonders, voice squeaking a bit at the horrible possibility.

_Is he really out there somewhere? Could he really get to me? to the pack?_

“He’s dead now,” Derek assures.  “He can’t hurt you.”

“But we know who he was,” Isaac adds.  “He’s one of the Alphas from the pack that hurt Stiles.”

“The pack that made me,” Damon says before he can think better of the words, hating the sadness his statement brings to Derek and Isaac’s faces.

“They’re the ones who made you fearful,” Isaac corrects, “but you’re your own person beneath that.”

Damon’s not so sure, but he doesn’t disagree aloud.  

“So it was a memory?” Damon says instead, following the logic of what they say.  “I’m getting memories now? That’s good, isn’t it? You want me to have more of Stiles’ memories?”

“Well, these aren’t really the kinds of things we’d want you to see,” Isaac replies.  “We’d rather you get some good ones.”

“Will there be good ones that come too?”

“I hope so.”

_So do I._

“But it wasn’t just the memory that made you so upset,” Derek goes on, bringing them back to the topic at hand.

“His voice kept going after the memory,” Damon recalls with a shudder.  “Like he was right there in the room with us, like he could get to us and hurt us and I didn’t want him near this pack because things here are _nothing_ like that memory was.  I don’t want him near this--”

“He’s gone, Damon; he can’t get to us,” Isaac soothes.  “It’s okay.  I’ll do some research, see if there’s something we can do to help if you hear the voice again, okay?”

“Thank you, Isaac.”

“And in the meantime,” Derek says, “We want to make sure you’re feeling more and more at home here; we want you to feel safe here.”

“I do, Derek; thank you!” he assures.  “I love it here. This pack is--is _everything_.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.  We just want to make sure you know you’ve got a place of your own within the pack, not just as a part of the group.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, like this room,” Derek says with a vague gesture to their surroundings.  “It’s going to be yours from now on, okay? _Just_ yours.  You can shut the door, lock it even.  You can tell anyone not to come in, or that you want them to leave.  It’s _your_ space now, Damon, to do whatever you want with it.”

“But--but betas don’t--I’m not--I haven’t earned--” he stammers in the face of Derek’s unbelievably generous declaration.   

“You don’t have to earn it,” Derek replies.  “You have a _right_ to it.”

“I--I-- _thank you,_ Derek.”

_And maybe you won’t make me earn it, but I’ll try anyway.  I’ll show you I’m worth the trouble.  I’ll be as useful as I possibly can be.  I’ll be the best beta I can manage._

“You’re more than welcome.  We got together some magazines for you, so you can pick out some things you’d like for the room--new curtains and bedspreads and things,” Derek goes on, gesturing to the stack of magazines on the nightstand.  

“I don’t need new things, Derek; what’s here is perfect; I don’t want to waste anything.  It’s more than enough already!”

“We’ll keep what’s here,” Derek replies.  “It’s always good to have a spare, or we’ll give it to one of the pack who might want to use it.  It’s not being wasteful.  We want you to make this room your own.  Whatever you’d like to do with it.”

Damon glances around, honestly more than overwhelmed at the mere idea of having his own room, much less the prospect of filling it with a design and items of his very own.  Tears well up in his eyes at the impossibly wonderful gift he doesn’t deserves in the least, wishing more than anything he had something better to express his gratitude than the three simple words he manages to get out past the lump rising in his throat, “Thank you, Derek.”

_I don’t care if the voices were right and this is just some dream; I still love every moment; I still love this pack.  I love having you for an alpha._

_Thank you for giving me a world so contradictory to all the horrible things swirling around in my head._

_Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._  

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the length of the chapter makes up a little for the wait :)

            Damon goes to his knees on the tile floor and the jolt jars his whole body.  He wants to look around, take in the situation and try to understand what’s happening.  The last thing he recalls is falling asleep after another wonderful day with the pack.  He’d cautiously looked through the magazines Derek had left on the nightstand, still marveling at the idea that the alpha chose to gift Damon a space of his own at all, much less give him such wide permission for use of it.  Now he’s in a room he doesn’t recognize, and he longs to looks around in search of something familiar, but he can’t seem to get his head to turn they way he wills it to.  At first he panics at the realization, but a few moments more and Damon thinks he understands.

            _It’s another memory.  That’s why I can’t move.  I’m just along for the ride; it’s Stiles’ memory._

“Such a good beta,” a man praises, coming into Damon’s line of sight as he steps forward to run gentle fingers through Damon’s hair.

Damon would know what to do even if his arms didn’t move of their own accord, unbuttoning the higher beta’s pants, working up to taking him deep in his throat.  He can’t help but marvel at how much kinder this member of his previous pack seems, until the man moans out Stiles’ name in ecstasy and it all makes sense.

_Of course; this is how Derek would want his betas to behave; trying not to hurt anyone, giving everyone a name, not punishing.  That’s why he’s so gentle and kind._

“I know it’s all confusing,” the man says as he tucks himself away once he’s finished with Damon, “but you’re an _excellent_ beta, Stiles; you’ll figure out all the best ways to be useful soon enough,” he assures.

_Stiles. He called him Stiles.  This is a Hale pack memory?_

“Thank you, Peter.  I want to be useful however I can.”

“Good boy.”

_And thank you again, because this is another piece I needed to help understand how things work in the Hale Pack.  I want to be useful however I can be.  Just like Stiles was for you._

The scene dissolves, leaving Damon on the floor of the living room.  The beta, Scott is crouched down in front of him, both hands on Damon’s shoulders and a worried crease in his forehead.

            “Stiles, you okay?” he wonders.

            “Damon,” he replies.  “I’m Damon,” he repeats for lack of anything better to explain.

            “Oh--okay--that’s--yeah, okay,” Scott stammers.  “You’re okay though? Did you have a flashback or something?”

            “I got a memory, yes,” Damon replies.

            “Those alphas can’t hurt you anymore; you’re safe here,” Scott reminds kindly.  

            “Yes, I know, Scott.  It wasn’t a memory of them.”

            “Oh, well that’s good then.  Can you--uh--stand up and all now? Or like sit on the couch if you want?”

            “I should find the Alpha,” Damon counters.  “How long have I been gone? What was Stiles working on? I can finish it and--”

            “Hey, we’re not putting you to work the second you get here,” Scott says.  “Don’t worry.”

            “I should find Derek,” Damon repeats, unwavering despite Scott’s attempt to put him at ease.

            “He’s not here; it’s just us,” Scott replies.  “Derek’s went to watch a debate thing Isaac was doing at school so we were hanging out.”

            “You and Stiles are best friends,” Damon recalls.  “Right?”

            “Yeah, well--I mean we’re friends too, though, Damon, or well, I want us to be,” Scott says hopefully.  

            “Derek wants us to be more than just packmates,” Damon says.  “He likes the pack to be friends--like a human family.”

            “Yeah, right,” Scott agrees, but he doesn’t look pleased at Damon’s successful recollection of Derek’s instructions on pack interactions; he just looks incredibly sad.

            The silence hangs between them a moment or two longer.  Damon isn’t quite sure what Scott expects him to say or do, so he waits, hoping the higher beta will offer instruction of _some_ kind and not leave Damon to figure it out on his own.

            “Hey, so you wanna make some peanut butter cookies for when Derek gets back?”

            “Yes. I can help with that, Scott.”

 

**************************************************************************************

           

Damon goes upstairs after he’s done clearing away dinner.   It was obvious from both Derek and Isaac’s comments that they’d like him to pick things out of the catalogs for his room.  Damon reminded again that he’s grateful and happy with what’s already here, but he has to admit that a bit of a thrill runs through him at the prospect of making the room however he wants.  He reaches for the stack of magazines on the nightstand; it seems like there’s a few more than last time.  There’s a post-it note stuck to the top of the stack, too:

_Damon,_

_They mean it when they say pick out whatever you want.  Make the room your own.  Welcome home._

_\--Stiles_

            Damon stares down at the paper for several seconds, awed at the easy welcome in the words.  Stiles’ clear blessing on Damon’s presence here shouldn’t have so much of an effect, but it does nonetheless.  It relaxes a tension Damon hadn’t realized he was holding.  He opens the drawer of the nightstand in search of a pen, finds one, and turns the post-it over, carefully writing out “thank you, Stiles” in his best handwriting before retreating back downstairs with his stack of magazines.

 

*********************************************************************************************

 

            Derek paid the extra costs for fast shipping, though they would have waited for Damon to decorate the room even if he’d switched before the packages arrived.  They’re still not sure how often these episodes will happen;  Damon stayed three days last time, but Holly and Isaac say there’s no knowing the nature of this dynamic personality without more time.  That’s another reason it’s important to make Damon feel safe--because this way of coping isn’t likely to disappear overnight.  Stiles has got some serious work to do before it resolves.

There’s no way Derek had worried that making so many decisions about his room might end up causing Damon more stress than happiness.  It seems he worried in vain.  Damon stands looking at the impressive array of packages with a look of total awe, eyes shining before he checks his glee and wonders, “It’s so much, Derek; you’re sure it’s no trouble? I don’t want to--”

            “We’re happy to do it, Damon,” Derek says.  “It’s important for you to have a place all your own.”

            “Thank you, Derek; thank you _so_ much,” Damon replies, a hint of the giddiness showing through his carefully controlled expression.  

            “You’re more than welcome,” Derek answers honestly.  “Now, I don’t want you to worry about anything else on the list this afternoon; I want you to take your time and get your room settled like you want it, okay?”

            “Yes, Derek,” Damon answers.

 

***************************

 

            Damon unpacks the boxes slowly at first, almost reverent.  He moves more and more quickly as the excitement takes hold.  He laughs a little to himself as he runs his fingers over the navy duvet cover he chose, relishing the soft feel of it under his fingers.  He still can’t believe all of this is his: new bedclothes, new lamps, a chair for the corner, a rug on the floor, a few framed paintings for the walls.  It’s so much, _too_ much, and Damon’s not sure he’ll ever manage to show his gratitude properly.  Yet, Derek’s mentioned more than once that he can pick out even more if he likes; that Damon can paint the room, get all new furniture, change anything and everything as often as he likes.  

            _Impossibly kind…_

He spends hours arranging things and rearranging until the room looks just like the wonderful pictures in the catalogs, only _better_ because this is Damon’s very own.  It’s such a contrast to the flashes of Stiles’ horrible memories--snapshots of bare bedrooms with dim light streaming in, cramped rooms with betas he doesn’t know, all the momentary glimpses that keep overlapping with Damon’s world as he traverses the pack house.  This room will be different.  Just Damon’s.  He’ll keep it separate and safe, like Derek said.  

_My very own room._

’s standing idle, grinning so widely it’s almost painful, still admiring the room when Isaac wraps his knuckles on the doorframe to announce himself.

            “Everything like you imagined it?” he wonders.

            “More,” Damon replies honestly.  “I still can’t believe it.”

 

******************

 

            Isaac drinks in the sight of Damon’s elated face.  The room looks fantastic, but more importantly he can see how Damon clearly loves it.  Isaac still isn’t sure how best to deal with Stiles’ multiple personalities; Holly says they’re probably looking at lots of trial and error.  Regardless, there are some things that are _always_ high priority in the realm of Stiles’ recovery: making sure he doesn’t feel alone, making him feel safe, showing that he’s loved.  Isaac remembers all too well the early days of Stiles’ memory returning and the guilt that accompanied it all.  He’s got a feeling that a lot of Stiles insecurities are manifested into the personality before him; he’s determined to help Damon feel as accepted and secure as possible with his place in the pack, so that those reassurances can hopefully reach into all the other personalities too.

            “Can I come in?” Isaac wonders before crossing the threshold.

            “Of course, Isaac,” Damon answers quickly.

            “I want--well, Derek and I _both_ want to emphasize that this is _your_ space, Damon,” he says as he enters.  “We’ll always ask permission or wait to be invited,” Isaac promises, “and you’re always welcome to keep us out.”

            “Keep you out?” Damon says, brow furrowing in confusion.  “It’s the pack house; it’s all Derek’s; he--”

            “But he’s giving it to _you_ ,” Isaac reminds.  “A space for you, to do whatever you want with.  This room is someplace you should feel safe, always, and if that means kicking us out or locking the door, that’s okay.  You have every right to do that, and we won’t be angry or hurt you or anything like that.”

            Damon considers the words for a moment, seemingly awed at the autonomy Isaac speaks of.  Then his eyes open a little wider and he repeats, “But if you wanted to come in, you’ll ask permission or wait for an invitation.”

            “That’s right,” Isaac confirms with a smile.

            “I don’t mind, Isaac,” Damon assures.  “I wouldn’t ever mind, especially not for you or Derek.”

            “All the same; we want you to always feel safe here, like you’ve got control.”

            “I feel safe,” Damon swears earnestly, “and I know you wouldn’t hurt me--not either of you.  You’d be gentle.  I’ve seen memories of it.  I know you’d be careful like Peter and not want to--”

            “Peter?!” Isaac growls, the name spitting out between his lengthening fangs before he can rein in the reaction.  

His claws are out, digging into the palms of his hands and breaking skin until blood drips down to stain the new rug covering the floor.  Damon hits his knees in an instant, quivering but silent before Isaac’s outburst.  Isaac struggles to collect himself, wills even breaths and slowly shifts back to human.  The sounds of footfall on the stairs announces Derek before his words.

“Everything okay up here?” he wonders.

“I--I just--I was caught off guard by one of Damon’s memories,” Isaac says struggling to keep his voice even.   “I lost my control for a minute.  I’m _so_ sorry, Damon.  Please forgive me.”

“Of--of course, Isaac, I--it was my fault--I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.”

_No, you should have. We want to know what memories you have; we need to know.  Now you’re going to be reluctant to share because I reacted like a fucking idiot._

_Dammit, this sucks._

“What was it?” Derek wonders, clearly trying to understand what’s gotten a rise out of Isaac.  

Isaac prays for a moderate reaction as he informs, “Damon has memories of Peter.”

Derek keeps his control much better than Isaac managed.  A growl rumbles in his chest for just a moment before he quiets it and speaks.

“I’m sorry you have that, Damon,” Derek says sincerely.  “It’s something--something that we should have protected you from, but we didn’t.”

“Y-yes, Derek, I won’t speak of him ever again, I promise! I--”

“That’s not the problem,” Isaac interjects and Damon flinches like he’s expecting a blow to accompany the words.  “We want you to share, Damon; I just--it makes me angry to think that Peter took advantage the way he did.  I don’t want you to ever think we’re like that.”

“Yes, Isaac.”

“So you can _always_ tell us _anything_ and even if, even if it shakes us up a little bit, we’re never going to hurt you because of anything you share, okay?”

“Yes, Isaac.”

“But you’re not ever going to be used for sex in this pack, okay? Not even--even the way Peter did.  You don’t _ever_ have to worry about that.”

“Thank you.”

 

******************

 

Damon had been _so sure_ that he’d understood what Isaac was saying about the room.  He was marveling at the kindness of the illusion of control they wanted to give him.  He was thrilled that he’d found a way to repay all the wonderful things Derek got for his room--inviting Isaac to use him even if Derek doesn’t care to.

And then with one name it all shattered.

_Who is Peter? Why do you hate him so much? Is he dead? Did Derek send him away for using Stiles that way? But I thought Derek said you keep your betas no matter what they do wrong..._

Damon reminds himself it doesn’t matter, just vows to lock away all further mention of the man, despite Isaac’s reassurances that he could share.  What troubles him even more is Isaac’s firm assertion: _you’re not ever going to be used for sex in this pack, okay?_

_No, it’s not okay, so much of my training centers on those skills.  It feels familiar; I know I could do well with it._

_But they don’t want it, so I’ll just have to make due with everything else._

“Can you get back up, please, Damon?” Derek wonders, lifting at Damon’s elbow with a gentle hand.  

“Yes, Derek.”

“Let’s find a new topic, yeah?” he suggests, with a glance to where Isaac’s retreated to the far side of the room, looking miserable.

_I’ve upset him--and that upsets Derek.  I always seem to upset them…_

 “Tell me--tell me your favorite things about the room,” Derek requests, kindly guiding the conversation toward happier topics.  “Is it all exactly what you wanted? You can exchange anything you want if it’s not perfect.”

“It’s _wonderful,_ Derek,” Damon declares honestly.  “I love it _all_.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I think my favorite is that picture,” Damon says, gesturing to the seascape on the wall opposite the bed.

He’s not quite sure _why_ he likes it so much; if it’s the colors or the texture or the idea of the sea in general, but he feels like he could stare at the painting for hours and feel calm, like the wave carrying the sailboat on the canvas are lulling Damon toward serenity.  

Damon realizes that he’s lost himself in thought, smiling like an idiot at the painting for several silent moments.  Derek’s watching him with a smile though, like he’s happy to see Damon so fond of his gift; Damon blushes under the tender gaze.

“Thank you so much, Derek,” he says, though the words aren’t nearly enough.

“You’re more than welcome, Damon.  I hope you enjoy it all.”    

 

************************************************************

 

            The next all-encompassing memory comes the afternoon after Damon settles into his new room.  It sets in just as quickly as the memory of being burned--worse because there’s not even anything that seems to start it, no pain like before.  Damon just suddenly finds himself transported from the bright living room to a dingy basement.  He’s curled on the cold cement floor, body screaming in pain.  He can’t see much by the dim light cast under the door at the top of the stares, but it’s enough to make out Isaac’s familiar face contorted in rage as he claws mercilessly at Damon’s already ruined flesh.

_It hurts; God, it hurts so fucking bad._

“I’m sorry; I’m sorry,” he swears, the words aren’t his, but Damon means them anyway.  “I’ll be better. I can be better. I’ll be good now.  I’m sorry!”

_What did Stiles do that could set him off like this? What could be so bad?_

_But Derek said there were no punishments, no hurting other pack mates, it’s not allowed here.  This isn’t allowed.  Is it?_

_But I can’t strike a higher beta; Stiles couldn’t either.  Does Derek know? Maybe Derek knows and doesn’t care? I don’t know. I don’t understand. I just wish he would stop!   Derek? Derek! Please, I’ll be good! Whatever he did to make you so angry, I won’t do it; not ever! Please stop!_

But Damon can’t control his mouth to get the words out, and Isaac’s claws just slash deeper with every new strike.  His body--Stiles’ body if this is a memory?--tries to coil into as small a target as possible, but the movement only causes more pain to the abused skin and muscle.  Isaac isn’t going to stop until he flays every inch of him. It’s a punishment, not a lesson, and Damon can’t begin to fathom what could make Isaac do this to _Stiles_ of all people.  Stiles who seems so good.

“I’ll be better.  I won’t do it again,” Stiles wails using Damon’s mouth. “Please, stop! Please, beta! I’ll be good!”

Isaac doesn’t slow even for a moment, no matter how loudly and desperately Stiles screams.  It’s so much worse than enduring the assault from the Alpha yesterday.  This is _Isaac_ revealing the things he _could_ do to Damon, the reality that might be waiting if Damon ever fails to please. It’s not a past horror but a very, _very_ present one. He sees now how foolish he was to begin believing he could be completely safe here.  There are only two possibilities to the origin of this memory: either Derek instructed the punishment be given, or he just doesn’t care that Isaac decides to vent frustrations on lower betas.

A third possibility rises slowly, _What if Derek doesn’t know?_

_Can I tell Derek? Do I dare? What if he thinks I’m just lying? No Alpha could put the word of a beta above the Second, much less so since Derek’s married his Second._

_I can’t say anything.  Best not to say anything.  I’ll just be extra careful with Isaac--take nothing for granted with him.  I can be good.  It will be okay._

Stiles’ screams are still being ripped from Damon’s mouth even as he tries to negotiate his way through the logic of this memory.  It seems like the memory is never going to end, but eventually the scene starts to fade out, and the blackness envelops Damon for all of two seconds before he’s back in the brightly lit den, curled on the plus carpet without a scratch on him and Derek’s reassuring voice reaching his ears.

He’s urging Damon to take his time and just breathe and promising everything is okay now and Damon is safe.

But if the scene he just lived through is really a memory, then Derek’s words aren’t as true as Damon first foolishly believed. He’s not completely safe; not with Isaac here and acting as Second.

"What was it Damon?" Derek asks. "Can I help?"

He wants to beg Derek to protect him. He wants to say that Isaac broke Derek's rules and hurt Stiles. He wants to answer the alphas question in complete truth.

But Derek married Isaac and set him apart from all the others.  Derek loves Isaac; Damon’s heard him say the words several times in the short while he’s been here.  And Damon doesn’t dare test that love.

So instead he just whimpers, "I'm okay now, Derek. Thank you."

 

*********************************************************************

 

            Isaac’s chest aches as he notices the small ticks Damon’s been showing since the afternoon that betray his nervousness.  His hands shake; he startles at every sound; he doesn’t seem engaged by anything, lost in his own thoughts instead; at dinner he doesn’t seem to be listening to the conversation at all, just stares at the food on his plate, taking one bite after the other almost robotically.

            “Damon, are you _sure_ everything is okay?” Isaac wonders finally, unable to hold the question in though he’s asked plenty of times since the signs of nervousness started.

Damon’s eyes flick up in terror briefly before he nods frantically.

            “Yes, Isaac; thank you.”

            “Because if you’ve seen something that scared you or confused you or anything, we’d want to know.”

            “I’m okay,” Damon replies quickly, though Isaac doubts the full honesty of the reply.  “Thank you, Isaac.”

            “You just seem a little unsettled,” Derek puts in.  “Let us know if we can help.”

            “Thank you, Derek.”

            Damon stares back down at his plate.  His hands are under the table, but Isaac would bet money that the trembling just worsened.  Damon doesn’t finish the last few bites of his dinner, but when Derek comments he just swears he’ll put up the leftovers for later and not be wasteful.  

            _What in the world did you see? God only knows.  I just wish you’d share so we can at least try to help you with it._

            “You’re not feeling sick, are you? We’ll be happy to call Deaton to come if you don’t feel well,” Derek offers almost hopefully.

            _I don’t think it’s that simple._

“I’m not sick, Derek; I promise,” Damon assures.

            Nevertheless Damon’s mood doesn’t improve as the night continues.   When Isaac and Derek turn in for the night, it’s clearly still weighing on Derek as much as Isaac.

            “He saw something horrible this afternoon,” Derek says as he climbs into bed.  “He just won’t talk about it.”

            “What was he saying when he flashed back?” Isaac wonders, settling in on his side of the bed, too far away and yet Isaac can’t bring himself to close in over Stiles’ empty space in the sheets.  “Any context clues?”

            “He was just screaming, no particular words,” Derek replies.  “Do you think--maybe it was another memory of Peter?”

            “Definitely possible,” Isaac concedes, “and you think he’s scared to talk about it?”

            “Well, you didn’t exactly have the best reaction last time,” Derek points out.  “Not that I’d’ve been any better,” he adds quickly.  “Just--that he might think we wouldn’t want him talking about it.”

            “Maybe I’ll mention it to him tomorrow,” Isaac says, “remind him that it’s okay to tell us about memories of Peter.”

            “Can’t hurt,” Derek supposes.  “Speaking of tomorrow, I have a couple errands to run in the morning.  You don’t have class or anything, do you?”

            “No, not until noon.”

            “I’ll be back by then.  Just getting the oil changed in the camaro and running by the bank.”

            “How domesticated of you,” Isaac teases, reaching a hand across the bed to lace his fingers through Derek’s, “running errands.”

            “Something in our life’s gotta stay normal,” Derek replies, propping up on one elbow and leaning over the expanse to kiss Isaac’s smile.  “We can always use a little more domesticated and boring,” he reasons as he settles back down on the bed and reaches to turn off the lamp.

            “Agreed,” Isaac says with a sigh.

 

********************************************************

 

            Damon doesn’t sleep well, haunted by the memory of Isaac’s fury every time his eyes shut.  He knows Derek and Isaac can tell something’s wrong with him; he did a horrible job of burying his trepidation yesterday.  Today he’ll have to try harder or they’re bound to keep asking questions Damon doesn’t dare answer.

            He goes down to the kitchen much earlier than usual, before the sun is even up, desperate for something to occupy his mind.  He sets some pork chops to marinate for the day and then starts on breakfast, dragging out the tasks of cutting up fruit as long as he can before he sets about mixing up muffin batter.  If he makes too much, they’re easily frozen for later, so he reasons it isn’t too wasteful to allow himself to go overboard.

            His heart hammers when he hears the door to Derek’s bedroom open and close.  When Derek’s face is the one to appear around the corner, some of the tension in Damon releases.  He smiles in greeting as he ducks his head respectfully.

            “Good morning, Derek.”  

            “Morning,” Derek replies blearily.  

“There’s cantaloupe and strawberries and kiwi,” he points out.  “The banana nut muffins are done, but there’ll be blueberry done soon and then cranberry orange ones.  Or I can make anything else you want.”

“Impressive menu,” Derek compliments.  “Looks like you’ve been up a while.  Didn’t sleep so well?”

            “My room’s very comfortable, Derek,” Damon answers indirectly.

            “I’m glad you think so, but that doesn’t erase the bad memory you got yesterday--or the ones before.  Are they keeping you up?”

            Damon bites his lip, hesitating before answering honestly, “Yes, Derek.”

            “I’m sorry to hear that.”

            “I’m okay, Derek. I slept some.”

            “That’s good at least.  Just let us know if you need some medicine to help, okay? And you can talk to us about any memories you get, even ones about Peter,” Derek goes on.

            _Maybe Peter, but not Isaac.  I wouldn’t know how to tell you even if I had the nerve to.  I’m not sure your replies would be anything I want to hear anyway.  I’m just going to have to try and manage.  I’ll figure out how._

“Thank you, Derek,” he says aloud.

            “I’m running to town for some errands; any ingredients you need me to pick up?” Derek wonders as he munches on a muffin.  “I’d be happy to.”

            “You’re leaving?” Damon blurts, unable to stop the worry leaving his lips.

            He clasps his hands together behind his back to try and hide the return of his trembling.  Derek’s brow furrow in concern.

            “I’ll be back, Damon; it’s just for a little while,” he assures.  “You won’t be alone; Isaac’ll be here.”

            _Yes, Derek, that’s what frightens me._

He’s been alone with Isaac before without incident.  Isaac’s normally so kind.  But Damon’s never appreciated before what a horrible turn those situations might take.  He nods his head, not trusting his voice.  

            “If you need anything, I’ll have my phone with me,” Derek adds.  “Isaac knows the number, but it’s written on the fridge with the rest of the pack’s, too.  You can call for anyone if you and Isaac need anything.”

            “Yes, Derek, thank you,” Damon says quietly, finding his voice again.

            _Please stay. Please stay. Please stay. Please, please just stay._

 

*******************************************************

 

            Isaac wakes to a kiss on his temple and Derek’s scruff grazing his cheek.

            “Hey, sleeping beauty,” Derek says, “I’m about to head out.”

            “Mmmm.”

            “How about going downstairs for breakfast?” Derek says.  “Damon seemed a little worried about me leaving, and I don’t think he wants to be alone.”

            “Yeah, yeah ‘course,” Isaac agrees, rubbing at his eyes as he sits up.  “Thanks for the heads up.”

            “Sure,” Derek says.  “I’ll be back before you have to leave for class.  Love you,” he informs with another quick kiss, on the mouth this time.  “Brush your teeth,” he teases with a chuckle when their lips part.

            “Fuck off,” Isaac mutters before adding.  “Love you too.”

            As Derek leaves Isaac gets up and dressed quickly, so Damon’s not on his own downstairs for too long.  Maybe he’ll open up over breakfast, especially without his Alpha around to overhear.  Isaac sure hopes so.  He walks into the kitchen to see a place set out for him at the bar with an impressive array of fruit and a tray bearing blueberry muffins.  Damon’s pulling another batch out of the oven, and he nearly drops it when Isaac enters.

            “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

            “I should’ve paid better attention, Isaac; I’m sorry; I know better,” Damon replies as he sets down the tray on the counter.  “There’s fruit, Isaac, and those are banana nut muffins and these are blueberry if you’d rather.  I’ll put in the orange cranberry, but I can make _anything_ you like if you’d rather me--”

            “This looks _delicious,_ Damon,” Isaac interjects, taking the seat at the bar.  “Thank you.”

            “I’m glad to, Isaac.”

            There’s something unsettling in Damon’s demeanor.  Isaac is accustomed to this nearly overwhelming sense of anxiety when Damon’s addressing Derek, but it’s rarely directed at him.  Then again, Isaac’s the highest in the house with Derek gone.  It probably makes it all a little harder for Damon.

            “I think I’ll start here while those cool,” Isaac says.  “Banana nut are my favorite.”

            Damon puts the tray of uncooked batter into the oven, but he stays across the kitchen rather than coming to join Isaac.  It’s not _that_ unusual a choice; Damon can be a bit hesitant with proximity to his Alpha and Second.  He doesn’t look back at Isaac, choosing instead to stare through the oven window at the muffins.   It’s not really the interaction Isaac expected after Derek’s “he doesn’t want to be left alone” comment.

            “Damon?” Isaac says.

Damon whirls around and look at him with wide, frightened eyes before dropping his gaze to the floor and babbling, “Is something wrong with the muffin, Isaac? I can make a new batch.  I must’ve misread the recipe, but if you’ll please let me I’ll try--”

            “The muffin is _excellent_ ,” Isaac assures, cutting off the terrified reaction.  “I was just wondering if you’d had one yet?”

            “No, Isaac, I wouldn't eat before you or Derek,” Damon swears.

            “If you had, it would’ve been perfectly fine,” Isaac reminds, “have something now.  It’s got to be torture to smell all this awesome stuff all morning and not have any.”

            “I didn’t mind, Isaac; I don’t mind; I want to be good and respectful and--and I don’t mind waiting or anything else.  I’m glad to.”

            “Thank you, Damon.”

Isaac’s heart aches to see this persistent distress in Damon.  He’s acting on the instruction to come and eat, walking slow, shoulders hunched and head down as he reaches a tentative hand to take a slice of cantaloupe from the tray.  

“You can sit with me, if you want,” Isaac offers, “but I don’t want you to think that you _have_ to.”

“Yes, Isaac, thank you; I’d be--be glad to,” Damon replies, though _everything_ about his physical reaction contradicts the words.  

He’s a bundle of nerves as he takes the seat beside Isaac.  His breathing is shallow and quick.  His hands shake as he cautiously brings the fruit to his lips and nibbles dutifully though he shows no enjoyment of it.  Isaac purses his lips at the sight, trying to think how to make it any better.

“Help yourself to all of it, Damon,” he urges, reaching toward the muffins with the intention of handing one to Damon.

At the first indication of a move in his direction, Damon cowers back so completely that the bar stool beneath him topples over and he lands hard on the floor with a muffled yelp. Isaac puts up his arms up in show of peace, resisting the inclination to reach down and help Damon get up, though Damon’s scrambling back to his feet in the next second.

"Hey, it's okay. I didnt mean to startle you. I’m sorry,” Isaac says as Damon rises.

"I'm okay Isaac. Im sorry. I know better,” Damon replies, voice trembling. “I know to be still. I just--I forgot. I’m sorry," he goes on, standing where the bar stool was previously, hands balled to fists at his sides with his head ducked so low his chin is nearly resting on his chest.  He’s _so_ still now, _too_ still, like he’s waiting for Isaac to do something or move again so he can prove that he can will himself not to move in spite of his undeniable fear.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Damon,” Isaac promises.  “It’s okay.  You can react however you want here.  You don’t have to be still for me or anyone or worry about any of that, okay?”

“Y--yes, Isaac; thank you.”

“Is this about the memory from yesterday? Something you saw that has you this shaken up?”

“I’m okay, Isaac; thank you.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Isaac points out.  “I wish you’d tell me if something scared you.”

“Y--yes.”

“Yes, something did scare you?”

“”Y--yes, Isaac.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Even if it’s something to do with Peter, you can talk about it.  You can talk to me about anything, Damon,” he promises.

“Thank you, Isaac,” Damon answers quietly.  “I’m okay.”

“Well, whoever hurt you in the memory, you’re safe here with us now.  We wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.  I swear.”

“I don’t mean to let it show; I’ll get better with the shaking and the--”

“Let it show all you want.  Talk all you want.  Anything and everything that helps you process and cope, okay? And anything I can do let me know?”

“Thank you for being so kind, Isaac,”Damon says earnestly, words tugging at Isaac’s heartstrings.

_You shouldn’t be so awed at simple kindness, Damon; God, what kind of horrific memory must you have gotten? What did they do to you, Stiles?_

“Of course,” Isaac answers.  “I want you to feel at home with us.”

 

*******************************************************************

 

            Damon wants to trust Isaac’s words _so_ badly.  He wants to banish away the memory like it was just a nightmare, but he _can’t._   Isaac punished Stiles, shredded him.  For all the kindness and patience and promises, there _is_ a breaking point.  

_And I have absolutely no idea where it is._

_How do I avoid it if I don’t know what sets you off like that?  Couldn’t you just be honest and tell me there are limits to the punishment rule? I’d understand._

_Unless you don’t tell me about it because you know Derek wouldn’t like it? Did Stiles agree to keep quiet about it? And I’m safer if you think I don’t know? Or should I just admit to it so I can ask you what he did to deserve the beating?   Would you tell me? Or be disappointed that my mind was so weak that it forgot or I’m too stupid to understand on my own?_

_I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know what to say.  I need to hide it better; that’s the key.  I’ve got to behave.  I know to be still and be good.  I know better than this.  I can do it._

_Oh, I just wish Derek would hurry up and get home._

He’s righted the fallen stool, grateful it didn’t break when it fell.  He takes his place beside Isaac again, eating like he was told and grateful for the task.  He jumps again when the oven timer goes off, but he’s glad of the excuse for some distance from the Second, however small it may be. The muffins aren’t quite done when he checks, so he closes the oven door and waits patiently, trying to ignore the way he can feel Isaac’s eyes on him, studying him.  He wills his hands to stop trembling, and succeeds to an extent before giving up and bringing them to lay flat on the countertop instead and make it all easier.

He closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath, focusing on the cool, solid feel of the counter in hopes it will brace him a bit.  It works for a moment or two, and then an excruciating pain pierces his right hand and burns across his back as well.  Damon opens his eyes to find the source and realizes he’s no longer in Derek’s house.  The white countertop is replaced by a dull grey one, and there’s a clawed hand pinning his to the varnished wood.

“I told you to be still, beta,” a cruel voice reminds in his ear--different from the Alpha before, but he couldn’t turn his head to see the new face even if he dared.  

“Y--yes, Alpha, forgive me; I was weak; I--”

“Stop sniveling; how many times do I have to tell you how I _loathe_ it?”

The apologies end in a whine instead, and Damon feels the Alpha’s other hand at his back, claw trailing through already rent flesh as he chuckles.

“Now see, isn’t this better than sitting useless while you waited for dinner to cook?” the Alpha wonders.  “I’m showing you how to be useful, making you less of a burden.”

“Thank you, Alpha.”

“So do as you’re told and _be still_.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

The claws leave Damon’s hand, but join the others on his back, carving into the ruined skin like the alpha’s painting a masterpiece rather than spilling his beta’s blood all over the kitchen floor.  But Stiles must’ve learned from this, because he doesn’t move again, carefully still as the Alpha amuses himself.  And when it _finally_ ends, he leans into Damon’s aching body, crushing him against the counter to command in his ear, “Don’t you _dare_ let that heal before tonight, you understand?”

“Yes, Alpha.”

“Good.  Now get this floor cleaned up before dinner.”

            As he bends to do as he’s told, the world shifts to bring him back to the kitchen.  Isaac’s face is inches from Damon’s, and he balks back in terror before he realizes what he’s doing.

            “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean that; I’ll be still now. I know how!” he sobs, voice hoarse enough to reveal he must’ve been screaming without realizing.  

            “It’s okay; it’s okay,” Isaac swears, though his hands leave Damon’s shoulders immediately.  “I startled you. I didn’t mean to.  Tell me how to help.”

            “I’m okay, Isaac; I’m okay.  I’ll--I’ll get back to breakfast.  The muffins--they--they--I need to--they’ll burn,” he blabbers, trying to collect himself as he rises from the floor.

            “Even if they do, it doesn’t matter,” Isaac swears.  “You won’t be punished or anything.  No one’s going to hurt you.”

            _Liar!_ the voice in his head contradicts.   _Of course you’ll be punished. There’s no other way to deal with idiot like you who can’t keep it together and play their part.  Sniveling, useless, confused betas like you can’t be taught any other way.  You know it’s true.  Don’t you, beta? You know it deep down in your bones.  You know it’s just a matter of time before they give up and take the first swipe at you.  Just a matter of time before your blood stains these floors just like it does in all your memories._

_That’s assuming again that this is even reality.  That’s a good explanation, isn’t it?  That this ridiculous world without punishments is just the hallucination of a weak and worthless mind.  You see Isaac rending your flesh because that is the true reality of your life.  You know there’s no way you can have anything so good as the patient pack you’ve dreamt up here.  Isaac’s got every right to do as he likes with you, restricted only by what Derek says, and Derek will never pick your wellbeing over his Second’s desires._

 

***************************************************

 

            Damon comes out of the flashback for only a moment before the voices apparently start up again.  He’s got his hands over his ears, arguing unintelligibly.  Isaac tries to break through with his reassurances, but it seems no use.   After a few solid minutes of the awful scene, the smell of the muffins burning reaches Isaac and he leaves Damon’s side to hopefully prevent the situation getting any worse.

            But it seems Isaac’s motion and the odor that emanates from the oven when Isaac opens the door rouses Damon from the haze of confusion just long enough to get a truly horrific reaction from him.  As Isaac shuts the oven and places he muffin tray on the stovetop, Damon flings himself flat at Isaac’s feet, sobbing as he begs, “Please, Isaac, I’m sorry; I’ll make more if you’ll let me try, _please_! And I’ll have all the burned ones myself so they don’t waste.  I can be better! I’ll be better, Isaac, _please_ believe me!”

            “I do, Damon! I do!” Isaac swears.  “I believe you; I’m not going to hurt you. Can you please get up?”

            “Yes, Isaac, yes, whatever you want; I’ll behave however you want, do whatever you want.”

            “I just want you to calm down, okay? Take some deep breaths, remember you’re safe.”

            “Yes, Isaac.  Thank you.  I’m safe,” he repeats dutifully, but the last word tapers off into a whimper as his hands come up to cover his ears again.  “They’re so loud, Isaac; I’m so sorry--just--just they’re so _loud_.”

            “It’s okay,” Isaac soothes, longing to reach out and comfort Damon somehow, but he knows it won’t help.  “Look, let’s just--just try the medicine, okay? You can get some rest and the voices should stop.  How about that?”

            “Yes, Isaac, of course.”

            “Go on up to your room, and I’ll go get the medicine, okay?”

            “Yes, Isaac, thank you.”

 

**************************************************

 

            Damon hurries upstairs toward his room, stumbling as he goes but never slowing.  He can’t deny the calming effect of crossing the threshold into the space, but what little solace he might have gotten is quickly driven away by the incessant words ringing in his ears.

            _Ready to earn your medicine, you worthless wretch? You can’t possibly think after that disgraceful display downstairs--- ruining the Second’s breakfast and blubbering all over him like an idiot--that he’ll really just relieve you of it all and let it pass.  No, no, beta; this is the moment you’ve been dreading.  There’s no medicine coming.  He’ll just beat you until your senseless body lets you fall unconscious.  Just like Stiles.  No use begging, no use screaming, you know what’ll come, don’t you? No avoiding it._

 _Unless you could miraculously make it up to him,_ the first Alpha cuts in.   _Show your best, your real worth.  Maybe once you suck him off and he fucks you a few good times he won’t take it farther.  Maybe that’ll be enough to spare you...for now at least._

Before the words even process fully, Damon starts to tug at his clothes, a small bit of hope flooding in at the thought that there might be an option besides the horrific scene from the memory, something closer to the gentleness of the former Second, Peter--or even if not, some way he can at least finally show Isaac that he truly doesn’t mind giving anything Isaac would like to have from him.   He kneels at the end of the bed, body sinking into the position as though he was born knowing this is where he belongs.  

            _Let this be enough, Isaac,_ he begs silently.   _Oh, please, will this make up for at least some of the disappointment._

“Damon, what the hell are you doing?!” Isaac demands when he walks in.  “Get up; put some clothes on! I’m not--jeez, you can’t think that I--we’ve told you before that we’re not going to hurt you or fuck you or---”

            The wail that escapes Damon at the words feels like it’s being physically ripped from his lungs.  It’s too much, all too much.  The memories and then the voices and the training but the way Derek and Isaac say he should be, and it’s all colliding and confusing and he just can’t seem to get a hold on any of it.  

            _You’re too stupid to understand.  Moronic, worthless, little wretch.  No hope for you to ever belong anywhere for long.  No one could want a fucked up, broken thing like you._

 

**************************************************

 

            Derek’s about to ring the doorbell, not wanting to startle Damon with his entrance, when Isaac opens the door to greet him.  

“We’re both okay,” Isaac says tiredly in lieu of greeting.  “Mostly, but it’s--it’s been a rough morning,” he goes on, voice cracking a bit on the last couple words.

There’s no mistaking the wrecked look on his face or the fact he’s been crying.  Derek reaches to pull him in close in the next instant.

            “Hey, what happened? What wrong?”

            _You wouldn’t want to let Damon see you like this. How bad a morning was it if you let yourself lose it?_

“Damon just--he just--lost it and, he was _so_ scared of me, Derek; so much worse than he usually is.  I startled him, and then he had a flashback, and then the voices started and I sent him to his room so I could go get the sedative and by the time I got back he was naked and kneeling and I lost it all over again which only made it even worse and it just--God, it was _horrible_.”

            “Come on,” Derek says, ushering Isaac into the house with him.  “Where’s Damon now?”

            “Upstairs, still sleeping.  I--I gave him the sedative because the voices wouldn’t stop but--but when I injected him he--he just stayed frozen for me, the moment I told him to, even though I could tell he was scared, it was just like he was scared to move, the same way those bastards taught him he’s supposed to be still, and he had to be still for _me_ because _I_ terrified him to the point of needing sedation! And Derek the look on his face he was _terrified_ of me.  Me! I’m supposed to be the one that can help; I’m the middle ground; He’s not supposed to be as scared of me as he is of--”

            Isaac stops himself before the last word, but they both know what he was going to say.

            “It’s okay; you’re right,” Derek says honestly.  “He’s not supposed to be as scared of you as he is of his alpha.”

            “Derek, I think--I think the awful memory from yesterday might’ve been me,” Isaac confesses miserably.  “Maybe that’s why it’s all so--so hard for him?”

            Derek wants to deny the awful possibility, but it’s a fair guess.

            “Maybe,” he agrees.

            “God, and there’s more than one possibility--I mean the stuff before we had the whole kanima problem settled.  Worse, what if he saw what happened when we were kidnapped? How the hell am I supposed to help him if he’s this terrified of me?”

            _Welcome to my world,_ Derek thinks bitterly.

            “We’ll work it out,” he says aloud, not wanting to belittle Isaac’s strife with his own.

But it seems Isaac’s too empathetic not to eventually acknowledge, “This is what you feel like every time with him, isn’t it?  How do you manage?”

“Because I know you’ll step in for the things I can’t do for him,” Derek admits simply.  

“But this time, I’m the problem, not the solution.”

“Don’t talk like you’re a horrible monster, Isaac; he could’ve just as easily gotten memories of me hurting him before we were pack.  They’re not all gems with me either.”

“Still,” Isaac persists.  “If I only make things worse, how do we help him? He won’t talk to us; not if he’s got memories of either of us hurting him.”

“So we’ll have to find someone else for him to talk to,” Derek answers simply.  

_And I think I know just the person..._

 

********************************

 

            Isaac has to knock for a while before Cora finally opens the front door of her apartment.  She’s glaring angrily, unhappiness intensified by the mussed hair and smeared make-up that show she’s clearly just rolled out of bed.

            “Someone better be dying, Isaac” she growls.  “You know damn well I spent a ton of time working out a no-classes-on-Friday schedule.”

            “I know; I’m sorry, but we need your help--with Damon.”

            Her expression softens just slightly, and she seems to be taking in just how pathetic Isaac must look.  She still rolls her eyes in typical Hale fashion and sighs heavily before opening the door wider to let Isaac in.

            “Fine.  Come on,” she bids.  “Kitchen,” she adds.  “I need coffee.”

            Isaac doesn’t point out that it’s nearly eleven; Cora’s never been much a morning person; she prefers afternoons as her mornings.  He follows her to the kitchen, without protest.  

            “So what’s up with Damon?” she asks as she puts a K-cup into her Keurig.  “He’s just scared of you guys?”

            “Yeah.”

            "He's Damon. He's always skittish," Cora points out.  “So’s the other version of Stiles who’s missing memories.  It comes with the territory, doesn’t it?”

            “This is different.”

“Different how?”

“Well, we think he got a bad memory of one of us--probably me,” Isaac explains, “and he doesn’t seem to be able to trust us not to hurt him at all anymore.”

            “So what’s that got to do with me?”

            “He won’t talk to us.  Usually he’ll talk to me, but not anymore.  He flinches when I talk, when I walk in the room.  He trembles and cowers.  I know it sounds like the usual stuff but it’s _worse_ this time, and he’s too afraid of me to let me help him and I can’t fucking handle feeling this helpless.  We’ve got to do _something_ for him."

            “Like bring in a lower beta,” Cora supposes correctly.  “How’s that supposed to help?”

"He'll never speak poorly of his second to his alpha. We need a lower beta if we want to try and convince him to get his guard down enough to talk."

"What am I supposed to say to him?"

"Just talk. Be casual. See if he'll open up?"

“If he doesn’t want to talk about it, you shouldn't make him,” Cora replies firmly.  “I know you want to be a counselor and all, but people have a right to keep some stories private if they want.”

“We need to be able to explain it to him--find out what he’s seen so we can contradict it.”

“You’re not even positive he saw what you think he did,” Cora says.  “What if it’s something awful Stiles never wanted anyone to know?  What if Damon’s just not comfortable having to talk to people about flashbacks?”

“Look, I’m not asking you to fucking waterboard him until he talks,” Isaac snaps.  “I’m just asking you to _please_ come _try_ to get him to relax for two seconds, and then give him someone to talk to _if_ he’ll talk.  We know that you’ve been around betas like Damon before. We’ve seen you with the regressed version of Stiles.  You know how to talk to him; you can understand how he thinks. We need your help, Cora. _He_ needs your help."

She studies Isaac a minute or two more before concluding, “He’s really fucked up with this, huh? You’re totally freaked.”

“I don’t like being sidelined when people I care about are hurting.”

“Makes two of us,” she agrees with a sigh.  “I’m gonna go jump in the shower,” she tells Isaac.  “Find me a to-go mug for that coffee.”

“Thank you _so much_ , Cora; I _really--”_

“Not exactly doing it for you,” she replies.  “Stop gushing.”

“Well, thanks all the same.”

_Because otherwise I think I’ll lose my damn mind._

 

***********************************************************************

 

            Damon wakes slowly, but the panic sweeps in as he recalls the chaos that led to his sedation.   He sits upright, searching the room for Isaac or Derek, but no one is here.  He hurries to his feet, ignoring the light-headedness that likely indicates there’s still a bit of the sedative at work in him.  He strains his ears until he picks up on a pulse downstairs, and a small bit of the tension in him releases.

            _At least he didn’t leave me._

He’s still not sure why Isaac just put him to sleep instead of acting out the punishment.  He’s still confused as hell about this whole debacle.  It doesn’t change the fact that he knows how to be good, and a good beta should go downstairs, express gratitude for the mercy, and immediately try to return to being useful.

            _Oh please don’t be furious, even if you are let me try to make it up to you; tell me something to do that will at least help make it up to you._

            But it’s not Isaac who sits at the bar in the kitchen when Damon enters, it’s another beta, Cora they call her.  She smiles in greeting and holds up the muffin she’s eating.

            “These are really good, Damon,” she praises before letting her gaze fall back down to the counter.  “Thank you for cooking.”

            “Where are they?” Damon asks, ignoring the compliment; he doesn’t need her approval anyway.  

            “Out on errands,” she replies.  “They should be back by dinner.  I’m supposed to help you until they get back.  Derek says you’ll know what we should do--that you can teach me to get better at all the things on the list.”

            His eyes narrow at the supposed task.  “I’m not supposed to hurt anyone.”

            “You can teach without hurting,” she reminds.  “Like Derek and Isaac do.”

            _Well, like Derek anyway…_

“Yes, I suppose I can.”

            “You can call the alpha if you don’t believe me,” she replies.  “You want me to--”

            “No,” Damon interrupts.  “No, that’s fine.  I remember he asked you to help with the pack dinner.  You’re supposed to be learning.”

            “Exactly,” she replies, “and I thought--to thank you for helping me--that maybe I could help you?”

            “I already know how to be good.”

            “Yeah, but this pack is different from what you know,” she counters.  “So I can explain it, and you can ask questions without having to worry about pissing off Derek or Isaac.”

            He considers the merit of her offer for a moment before conceding, “Maybe.”

            _But can I really trust you?_

Damon can’t be sure of her motives.  This pack is supposed to be about safety and love and family, but does that mean there’s no competition? It would still be to her advantage to seem like a better beta than him.  But she’s the Alpha’s sister, his _literal_ family.  So she’s one of the least likely to ever truly be thrown out of a pack led by an alpha so focused on familial bonds.  She has little to worry about.

 _I wonder what that kind of certainty must be like,_ Damon thinks enviously.

“Why are you glaring at me?” she wonders.  “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“You don’t have to ask me things if you don’t want to,” she says, stating the obvious.  “I just wanted to offer something useful to you if you’re going to be helping me.”

“That’s good of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Hurry up and finish your breakfast,” he tells her.  “We’ll work on the laundry.”      

Damon feels the morning is largely a success; Cora’s obedient and watchful. She seems genuine enough that Damon’s allowing a few of his defenses to relax a bit.  He wonders how she does such a good job of balancing her training and the easy-going behavior that Derek seems to prefer.  Maybe she’s right to say she can help him understand better; maybe it would benefit them both and benefit the pack if they were friends and not just betas.  Derek keeps reminding Damon these are all his friends and family.  

“So you think of anything you want to ask, Damon?” she wonders when they start slicing up vegetables in preparation for dinner.  

“Nothing in particular.”

_Not yet anyway..._

 

*************************************************

 

            Isaac and Derek return home to find Cora and Damon working in tandem to finish up dinner.  Derek has no trouble seeing Damon’s averse reaction to their entrance, tensing, keeping his head down, all the usual submissive behavior.  What’s unusual is the fact that his eyes continue to flit nervously toward Isaac instead of Derek.  Isaac’s proximity has none of it’s usual calming effect; he just makes it all worse.  When he excuses himself to the back porch, Damon’s stress visibly lessens.  

            _He’s right isn’t he? You got a memory of him hurting you._

And with this kind of extreme reaction, Derek’s worried Damon has the worst memory, of being trapped in the basement while Isaac ripped him apart.  

            _We can explain it.  We’ll help you understand.  But first you have to tell us what’s wrong._

 

*********************************************************

 

            Dinner goes well, and Damon and Cora get high praise from Derek and Isaac.  Derek’s clearly glad to see the two of them working well together, and he says as much.  The Alpha’s support of the friendship helps to further dissuade Damon’s distrust of the other beta.  Surely he wouldn’t encourage a friendship that would only lead to trouble.  

            “Can I stay the night here, Derek?” Cora wonders.  “I’m learning a lot from Damon--if he doesn’t mind me staying.”

            “You’re always welcome here,” Derek answers graciously.  “Damon, would you mind if Cora keeps helping a little while longer?”

            “No, Derek, I don’t mind.”

            “Thank you, Damon.”

            “I’m glad to,” Damon replies honestly.  “Cora’s a good beta.”

            “Yeah, I think so too,” Derek agrees.

            She smiles shyly at the praise and ducks her head.  “Thank you,” she says quietly as she rises from the table.  “I can clean up now, if everyone’s done.”

            “I’ll help,” Damon offers.  

            “Thanks, guys,” Derek says.  “I actually think Isaac and I are going to take a quick walk down to the pond.  We’ll be back in a little while.  Call my phone if you need us.”

            “Yes, Derek,” Damon replies, grateful Derek plans to take Isaac with him.  

            He leads the way back to the kitchen followed by Cora, and they start the task of washing up.  They work in silence a while, until she finally breaks it by supposing, “I don’t think they can hear us anymore.”

            “So?”

            “So can I ask you a question?”

            “I guess so,” he permits warily.

            “Did Isaac hurt you?”

            “No,” he answers quickly--too quickly it seems because she regards him with suspicion.  “There are--are no punishments in this pack,” he goes on.  “You know that.”

            “Then you must’ve gotten a memory of him hurting you--from before all the pack things were settled?”

            “I get memories of lots of things,” he deflects.  “It’s good; Derek wants me to get memories.”

            “Yeah, but Derek and Isaac want you to _share._ If you saw something that worries you or confuses you, Derek would want to know."

"Isaac’s good. He’s the Second. I know that," Damon asserts.  “I’m not confused,” he lies.

"You shake when he walks in the room, and--"

"Mind you own business!" Damon snaps, claws extending, itching to reinforce the command with a slash across her mouth and quell the prying questions.  

 _No, no, no. No one gets hurt in this pack,_ he reminds himself as he takes a deep breath to rein in the frustration.  

            “I just want to help,” she says earnestly, “that’s all.  I’m not trying to get you in trouble; I just wanted to remind you that Derek would want to know.  Even though it’s about Isaac.  He loves all of us; he’d want a chance to explain it to you.”

            “I’m fine; I’m not confused,” Damon lies again.  “Just finish the dishes,” he tells her.

 

*****************************************************************

 

            “You two want to relax for a little while?” Isaac wonders when he and Derek return from their walk; he forces a smile and tries to ignore the tension running through Damon at their reappearance.  “Maybe we’ll put in a movie.  You’ve done plenty of chores for the day.”

            “Yes, Isaac, whatever you and Derek want,” Damon answers readily.

“That would be fun,” Cora says.  “Thank you.”

“Damon, you don’t _have_ to come sit with us,” Derek reminds gently.  “You can go up to your room and read if you want, or watch something on the TV in the office.  It’s your choice.”

“I--I want to relax with you and Isaac,” Damon says without conviction.   “And Cora,” he adds as an afterthought.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” Cora says as they walk into the den and settle into the sofas.

“Sure, anything,” Derek answers easily, though at least three in the room can easily guess the general direction where this is headed.  

“Derek, we’ve talked about how the pack got off to a rough start--back before I was here,” she says.  “I was just wondering, if maybe Stiles would have bad memories of Isaac.”

Damon growls at the words and hisses, “He is your Second, Cora!”

“It’s okay,” Derek assures.  “She can ask anything, just like we’ve told you.  You can say whatever you like here.”

            “And to answer your question,” Isaac says, guilt making him feel sick, “Yes, Stiles would have bad memories of me.”

            The small gasp from Damon is enough confirmation that this is what’s been on his mind.  Isaac watches for his reaction, but it’s hard to read.  Damon’s staring so intently at the coaster in front of him on the coffee table that Isaac half expects it to erupt into flames.  He mentally wills Damon to find words, to express what he’s seen and what’s troubling him about it.  But it seems Cora has appointed herself Damon’s mouthpiece for this conversation.

            “But only because of things that happened before,” she says.  “You wouldn’t ever hurt Damon, would you?”

            “Of course not.  I’d never hurt anyone else in the pack, and that definitely includes Damon.”

            “And Derek you wouldn’t ever ask Isaac to hurt anybody? Or let him hurt anybody for any reason?”

            “No,” Derek says firmly.  “No one gets hurt in this pack.  We’re a family.”

            “And family can talk about _anything_ and ask questions without making anyone mad?” Cora goes on, further setting the stage for Damon, and honestly Isaac’s really impressed with her patient build to help him.  It makes him ache to have to wonder why she’s familiar with Damon’s situation.   “So if Damon wanted to ask something about a memory, you wouldn’t mind no matter what it was?”

            “I wouldn’t mind, no matter what,” Derek confirms.  “In fact, I’d really like for Damon to share every memory he can with us.  We want to help him.”

            Damon pulls his eyes up from the table to look at Derek, studying him for the briefest moment before averting his eyes again, but he must have seen the earnesty there, because he takes a deep breath and looks over at Isaac.

            “I saw--saw you--,” he stutters, eyes dropping back down as he threads his shaking fingers together in his lap.  “You--you h--hit, Stiles,”  he finishes quietly.  “I didn’t--know--what to s--say.”

            “Damon, I’m _so,_ so sorry you had to see that,” Isaac says.  “I would give _anything_ for you not to have to deal with that memory.  I don’t want you to think that I would _ever_ hurt you.  Will you let me explain?”

            “Yes, Isaac, of course,” he says softly.  “But you don’t owe me and explanation.  I know you’re a good second and Derek loves you--the pack loves you, and--and--I just--I was confused, but I don’t wanna doubt,” he adds apologetically, and it’s all Isaac can do not to just burst into tears at the distress the memory’s causing.

            “I’d like to explain,” Isaac says, “if you can tell me what you saw.  Was it--were we in a basement?” he wonders, and Damon nods confirmation.  “Okay, yeah, okay, let’s see how do I--I guess, I’ll just--the basic thing that you need to know, is that I used to be _horribly_ claustrophobic because of--of some things that happened--when I was younger because--well” Isaac takes a deep breath, collecting himself before he continues.

            Derek reaches a hand toward him over the sofa cushion that separates them, and Isaac takes it gladly, grounding himself in the support.

            _You think it would eventually get easier to admit to, but it doesn’t._

“When I was younger, my father was an abusive alcoholic, and he would lock me in a freezer in our basement,” Isaac says, rushing the words before he can start stumbling through again.  

            “What?” Damon demands with a growl.  

“He died,” Isaac says.  “He can’t hurt me anymore.  Just--just the memories of it,” Isaac expounds, “but thankfully Derek’s been able to help a lot with that.  We worked on it after that horrible time I hurt Stiles.  I wanted to make sure I didn’t lose my control because of my fear anymore;  I didn’t want to ever accidentally hurt anyone again.  So Derek took the memories that were fueling the claustrophobia; I know it happened because I’ve been told--I wanted to know what used to be in the holes that seemed to be dotting my time with my dad--but I don’t actually remember any of it first hand.”

“That makes much more sense now, Isaac,” Damon informs with a strained smile.  “You--you didn’t mean to hurt Stiles.  You couldn’t control it.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Isaac admits, a three-word phrase that was the result of many, _many_ conversations with Holly after the whole kidnapping fiasco and the chaos that followed.  “But I _can_ control it now,” he assures.  

 _And that’s the important thing,_ Holly’s voice says in the back of Isaac’s mind.   _That you’re improving, and that each day you’re a bit better, Isaac.  You’ve come a long way._

 “That’s the other important thing I hope you understand,” Isaac continues.  “That I didn’t want to hurt him like that, and that we took steps to make sure I won’t hurt anyone like that again.”

“Because this is a good pack,” Damon reasons, smile becoming a little more genuine as he adds, “where we’re family and no one gets hurt and we can say anything.  It’s not like the alpha pack.”

“No, it’s not. You’re safe here; we want you to always feel loved and safe.”

“Thank you,” Damon says, bringing his gaze up to Isaac’s tearful one.  “And thank you for explaining.”

“We’re glad you told us about it and gave us the chance.”

“Cora helped,” Damon recognizes, smiling bashfully over at her, and she grins back at him.  

“I was glad to,” she replies, employing Damon’s phrase.      

            _We’re all glad to, Damon; all we want is to help you and Stiles.  If you only knew how all-encompassing that goal is to this marriage--to this whole pack..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the hiatus! school and the holidays killed our writing schedule.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

 

Stiles wakes in the room they gave Damon, brain downloading the past few days like some freaky psychological iPod sync.  He’s not sure he’s ever going to get used to seeing his life first hand, but it’s definitely not the worst thing he’s had to grow accustomed to.  In fact, it’s conveniently removed from his emotions, like he can only think of the horrible scene with Isaac in a detached, watched-it-in-a-movie kind of way.  It doesn’t feel like a real memory anymore.

 _Weird,_ Stiles thinks as he sits up in bed.  

The room is meticulously put together, fit for an interior design catalog.  Stiles reaches over to the nightstand and opens the drawer to find the magazines he left for Damon.  The note he left has been replaced by another that says simply, “Thank you, Stiles.”  He smiles even though it’s a bit surreal to read a note from himself, and pushes the drawer shut again, rising to go downstairs and greet the others.  It sounds like someone’s up already.  Probably Isaac getting ready for class.  Stiles doesn’t like what he’s seen about the past few days, and he’s eager to get down there and put the anxiety to rest for a while.

He’s surprised to see it’s Cora in the kitchen, though he shouldn’t be after taking in the memories.  She really stepped up the past couple of days, filling a spot Isaac and Derek couldn’t.  She smiles and ducks her head in a very un-Cora manner when Stiles walks in.  

“Stiles,” he says as she opens her mouth to speak.  “Don’t have to be careful with me.”

“Cool,” she replies with a shrug, turning back around to the batter she’s mixing.  “So you can make your own pancakes then.”

“I thought Damon liked cooking; why’re you?”

“Damon likes being _useful_ ,” she replies curtly.  “There’s a difference.  He’d’ve gotten to sleep in, and been useful because he’s showing me how to act, and then he could’ve helped finish up if he wanted.”

“You understand how he thinks,” Stiles says, a statement, not a question, but she shrugs it off.  “Seriously, Cora; you know--”

“I know it’s too fucking early in the morning to have this discussion,” she interjects.  “Shut up, and start some coffee.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, “but I’m not dropping it.”

“Don’t really care if you do or not,” she tells him.  “I don’t owe you explanations.”

“No,” Stiles agrees, “but if I can help you--”

“I’m not the one that needs helping,” she replies, and the criticism in the words stings more than Sitles would care to admit.  She seems to realize the harshness and tries to soften her words with, “I didn’t mean--I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with you, Stiles; I just mean--”

“No, you’re right,” he allows.  “You’re not the one going nuts and making up new personalities.”

“I didn’t have packs as bad as you though.  I have a better frame of reference, but I--my past doesn’t make yours suck any less.  I just--talking about mine doesn’t help me, not really.  Just pisses me off.”

“Fair enough,” Stiles says, busying himself with the coffee pot.  “You like strong coffee, right?” he asks even though he knows the answer, just looking for a way to change the subject.

“Yeah, stronger the better,” she replies, and they go on about making breakfast in silence.

 

**************************************************

 

            “Isaac, you’re gonna be late for class,” Derek tells him as he shakes his shoulder gently.  “You gotta get up.”

            “Think I’m gonna skip,” Isaac replies. “I’m kinda exhausted.”

            “You’ve been sleeping okay; you snored like a fog horn for half the night,” Derek argues.  

            “Not that kind of exhausted,” Isaac admits, turning from his back to his side so he’s facing the wall instead of Derek.

            “Oh,” Derek answers solemnly, scooting across the space between them and settling in behind Isaac, wrapping an arm around Isaac’s torso to draw him in close.  “Tell me how to help?” Derek requests.

“Wish I knew what to tell you.”

“It was a horrible accident, Isaac; it was an awful set of circumstances; it’s not your fault.”

“Doesn’t feel that way,” Isaac counters, tears welling up in his eyes with the words.

_It feels like I lost the one thing that made his episodes bearable: being able to help him.  At least when he’d trust me and be okay with me I could feel like I was making a positive impact on his psyche.  Now I just make it all worse.  I can’t take it.  I don’t know how you take it every time.  I feel like a fucking monster when he looks at me._

“It’s still the truth.”

“How do you do it?” Isaac wonders quietly.  “How can you stand it when he looks at you like that? When you can’t do anything but let someone else step in?”

_Because I never really understood how impossibly hard this must be for you or how powerless you must feel all the time._

“Not much choice about it,” Derek says simply.  “At least with Damon it gets better with time.  Cora’s here to help now.  We’ll work it all out.  We always do.”

_Tomorrow will be better.  Tomorrow will be better…_

“Hey!”  The shout comes from the kitchen, startling Isaac from his misery for just a moment.  It’s Stiles’ voice, that continues, “Isaac Hale you better drag that perky ass out of bed or you’re gonna be late!”

“He’s back,” Derek says, and Isaac can hear the smile in his voice even if he doesn’t bother turning to see it.

“He’s back,” Isaac repeats, whole body relaxing with the news.  “Stiles is back.”

“I mean it, Isaac! Don’t you make me come up there!”

“Coming!” Isaac calls back, voice croaking just a little.

He hurries along with Derek to throw on pants and a t-shirt respectable enough for the fact his sister-in-law is downstairs and not just his husband.  The leaden feeling is starting to ebb away, replaced with the lighter happiness of having Stiles back.  He’s still trying to fight off the anxiety as they descend the stairs; a small part of Isaac is still petrified that Stiles will cower when he walks in the room.  He grips Derek’s hand tight as they turn the corner into the dining room.

“About time,” Stiles huffs casually; he’s already at the table with Cora, gobbling pancakes like he’s starving.  “C’mon,” he beckons.

Isaac stands frozen though, smile plastered on his face at the scene.  He means to move, but his feet just don’t.  It seems the rest of him is content to just stand and watch the happy sight of Stiles so carefree and unafraid again.  Derek nudges him forward, and Stiles rises from his chair, smiling fondly as he takes the few steps needed to come stand in front of Isaac.

“Miss me that much?” he wonders with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Isaac answers sincerely, unable to join Stiles’ lighthearted approach to the conversation.  “Always, but more with--ya know--everything.”

Stiles pulls Isaac in close for a crushing hug, and Isaac all but melts into the embrace.  They stand like that for a moment or two, and before he pulls away, Stiles says quietly in Isaac’s ear, “You know I don’t blame you for any of it.  It’s not your fault, Isaac.”

“I just--” Isaac protests as they part.

“Not. your. fault,” Stiles repeats firmly.  “Sorry you had to miss me,” he adds to the room at large.  “I’ll call Holly later, okay? Set up some time to maybe talk with her and try to get a handle on this stuff?”

“Sounds good,” Derek says.  “I can drive you if you want.”

“Thanks.”

_He doesn’t blame me._

_He’ll talk to Holly._

_Tomorrow will be better..._

 

*******************************************

 

Scott sits dutifully in the corner with his headphones in place as Holly completes the circle of mountain ash around the sofa where Stiles sits.  The usual feeling of claustrophobia encroaches on Stiles, but it’s easy enough to push past it with a few deep breaths.  She smiles as she settles on the armchair across from Stiles, a familiar sight that helps Stiles relax in spite of his temporary entrapment.  

“Have you thought about where you’d like to start?” she wonders.  “You mentioned some trouble with Isaac,” she adds, nudging him toward the topic she assumes he called her here to discuss.

 “Kind of,” Stiles replies.  “Damon got the memory of Isaac’s panicked attack on me when we were kidnapped.  It made him scared of Isaac, but he was too afraid to bring it up to Derek.  Instead he just spent a couple days acting as scared of Isaac as he was of Derek in the beginning.  Isaac’s never had that fear directed at him like that.”

“I’m sure it was hard for both Isaac and Damon.”

Stiles nods.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Did it bring up memories you’d rather not think about? Does it make you more anxious around Isaac than usual? What kind of reaction did the flashback have on you, Stiles?”

“That’s the weird thing,” he answers.  “I _don’t_ remember it--the flashback or the actual event.  It’s all,” he searched for the right word to describe the surreal feeling.  “Detatched.”

“Detached,” she repeats.  “But you’re aware of what happened?”

“Yeah, like, I have all of the details, but not the emotion--at least not in the same way.”

“Interesting.”

“Does it mean the DID is getting worse? More separated?”

“Perhaps,” she agrees, “this could be a sign that your mind is solidifying the role of this personality.”

“Which is what? A memory dump?”

“There’s no way to entirely understand the full reasoning behind the fractures,” she answers ambiguously.

“Right, I know. It’s all theories and speculation and best guesses,” Stiles huffs, “but seriously,” he presses on. “We kind of talked out the theory that Wretch must have been my mind’s way of attempting to shut down and not deal with everything in direct memory, just impulses and intuition and stuff.  Damon doesn’t reset; I get a weirdo download quick version of his time with everyone but it’s--it’s not like the memories are _really_ memories. They’re more like--like--just inherent knowledge.  Like I just _know_ what happened without any sense of experiencing it.”

“And what does that lead you to believe about Damon?”

“That--that he’s a--ya know--memory dump,” Stiles answers, “maybe,” he hedges, still unsure how he feels about the conclusion.

“Explain what you mean by ‘memory dump’,” Holly requests.

“Well, like--maybe--maybe he’s what I wanted to accomplish when I finally had Derek start blocking memories for me,” Stiles expounds, but silence falls as he says nothing further.

“An interesting thought,” Holly comments.  “Do you think that’s a good thing? Or does it concern you?”

Stiles hesitates before answering honestly.  “It should probably concern me, especially since trying to block those memories is maybe what led to that first seizure and that was apparently the first fracture into multiple personalities, not just supernatural grade amnesia,” he reasons, “but the thing is, if I can take shit that I don’t want in my head--things like Peter and getting mauled by Isaac and all the torture from the Alpha pack--and I can just dump it on someone else, let someone else process it for me, so that it’s just this little fact filed away in the back of my mind.  I mean--can anybody blame me for thinking that would be ridiculously fucking awesome? To objectively know about my trauma without feeling the direct effects? That’s like--kind of a dream come true from where I sit.”

“I can definitely understand your logic.”

“But you don’t agree with it.”

“I’m--cautious,” she replies.  “You said yourself that blocking the memories was a solution that turned out to be only temporary.  I feel the same issue is at play with siphoning memories off into the Damon personality.  Your mind is looking for a solution, and I believe you’re desperate to find options that don’t involve directly facing and processing some of your worst memories.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Stiles snaps more bitterly than he intended.  “I just mean,” he amends, “Maybe this isn’t such a _bad_ thing after all, ya know, that my brain is dividing the stress.  Maybe it’s the only way I can handle this shit.  That’s not such a stretch of logic.”

“It’s not a permanent solution Sitles,” Holly reminds, “not if you want to be mentally well.”

“Let’s be honest here; I’m never _really_ going to be mentally well, am I?” Stiles challenges.  “So what’s it matter _how_ I cope as long as we can halfway predict it and handle it?”

“That’s not a solution, Stiles.”

“It’s enough of one,” he replies, “for now anyway.”

“So you’re content then, to just shovel off memories into an alternate version of yourself.”

“Damon is _not_ me,” Stiles refutes. “It’s not--he’s just--he’s entirely different.”

“In some ways.”

“In the ways that really count.”

“That’s an interesting perspective.  Can you--”

“No, I will not tell you more about it,” Stiles interjects.  “I came here to talk about Damon’s functionality, not his mentality.  He’s different from me.  He’s something created by those bastards who ruined my fucking life.  He’s _not_ me, and it’s not my job to worry about him.  I can’t deal with it, isn’t that the whole point of this? That apparently I can only handle part of my shit, so I’m splitting it off.”

“You don’t want to understand Damon as a person; you just want to understand what purpose he serves for you,” Holly surmises.

“He’s _not_ a person--he’s--he’s--imaginary or something!” Stiles asserts “I mean--mostly anyway. Right?”

“He’s very real, Stiles, in his own right.  You can’t just dismiss the personality.  Understanding the aspects is going to be the key to understanding the best way to help your mind to heal.”

“Maybe we’re operating with two different definitions of ‘heal’,” Stiles retorts.  “You might want “mental wellness” by the textbook definition--or merging all this insanity back into one personality.  I guess that’s the default goal in cases like this.  But from where I’m sitting, “healed” means that I can function in society and interact normally with my husbands and actually _enjoy_ my life without _constantly_ dealing with the hell that I went through.  If that means letting the Damon personality handle the worst of it, I’m not so sure there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Stiles--”

“Look, I just--I called you because I knew it would make Isaac feel better.  I don’t want to dig into this today.”

“I think it’s something we need to keep working on.  Maybe another session sometime this week? You need to--”

“Maybe,” Stiles interjects.  “We’ll see, okay? I’ll--uh--let you know.”

She wants to stay; she wants to talk this out.   It’s written all over her expression.  For a moment or two Stiles thinks she just might take advantage of the mountain ash line and keep talking in spite of his clear desire to stop.  

_Just leave.  Leave before you make me focus on what it must be like for the personality that has to cope with this.  Leave before you make me examine it closely enough to really accept all the holes in my logic that this is a decent coping option.  Let me have this one silver lining of the DID.  Just leave, Holly. Please._

“I’ll call tomorrow,” she says as she rises from her chair.  “We’ll set up a time.”

“Sure. Yeah. Fine,” he agrees dismissivley.

“Think about what we’ve said, Stiles.  Think about--”

“I _know_ ,” he snaps, annoyed.

She sighs, exasperation clear on her face as she purses her lips and turns to leave.  Stiles half expects her to quit on him at the end of sessions like this, but it seems some combination of genuine compassion and morbid curiosity keep her around.  He wonders for the first time how difficult or easy it would be to actually get her to give up sessions with him.  It’s an extreme thought, but he can’t help dwelling on the idea.  

_I’m tired of trying to figure it out. I’m tired of shoveling through piles and piles of bullshit in an attempt to seem half sane.  If this works with Damon being a middle-man memory processor, why can’t we just leave well enough alone for a while?_

 

***************************************************************************

 

Derek is glad to see Stiles so incredibly upbeat after his session with Holly.  Scott stayed for dinner, even though it was just the pizza Derek and Isaac brought from town.  Stiles chattered all through the meal, discussing the most recent trades the Mets made and the talks of a few more.  He doesn’t mention his time with Holly, and Derek’s willing to follow Stiles’ lead.  Isaac’s been watching intently though, clearly trying to decipher Stiles’ behavior into a summation of what he might have divulged to Holly.  When Scott leaves and they move into the den, it seems Isaac’s curiosity can be contained no longer.

“So--uh--seems like whatever you and Holly talked about helped?” Isaac says as he takes his usual spot on the couch, clearly inviting explanation without demanding it.

“Yeah, just just brainstorming what Damon’s function could be, ya know...”  Stiles says vaguely, plopping into the cushy brown armchair and sprawling out.

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles says dismissively.  “Hey, so did you pick which one to write your reflection thing on?” Stiles wonders, changing the subject entirely.

Derek settles on the opposite end of the couch from Isaac, distanced equally between his husbands. He’s been relieved to see Isaac’s melancholy ebb away as the day wore on.  He worries for a moment that the peace of the day might give way to an argument with Stiles so clearly neglecting to share what he and Morrell may have discussed about the Damon personality.  Isaac seems a bit perturbed, but he goes along with Stiles’ clear desire to change the topic.  

“Yeah, the yellow tab,” Isaac replies, pointing to the book on the end table beside Stiles’ chair.   Stiles thumbs to the page.  “314,” he adds.

Isaac’s taking a Survey of American Literature class.  They’ve been reading some Dickinson poetry, and while Derek’s always preferred Emmerson the most, he’s still glad Isaac’s enjoying the material.  He’s still trying to decide fully on his major, though it certainly seems that psychology fascinates him the most--for countless understandable reasons.  A minor in English might pair nicely with that.  

            “Read it,” Derek requests, curious to hear which of her musings Isaac’s finds intriguing or inspiring enough for a four page reflection assignment.  

            “Gimme two seconds to find the page, dude,” Stiles says.

            “It’s _tabbed_. How hard is it to--”

            “Okay, okay, got it,” Stiles interjects.  He takes a breath before he begins:

“Hope is the thing with feathers -

that perches in the soul -

and sings the tune without the words -

and never stops - at all -

 

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard

and sore must be the storm -

that could abash the little bird -

that keeps so many warm

 

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

and on the strangest Sea -

yet - never - in Extremity,  

It asked a crumb - of me.”

 

            A silence follows Sitles’ recitation, and Derek certainly sees why Isaac might choose this poem.  

            “I dunno; I just like that one,” Isaac says dismissively, finally breaking the silence.  “I thought about doing the ‘keep the Sabbath” one instead.  I dunno.  Maybe I’ll do both.  Dr. Silver said we could do a couple if we wanted…”

            Isaac goes on, but Derek’s mind is still mulling over the words.   He’s heard the poem before--in high school or maybe college.  It’s just never struck him the way it just did.  He supposes it’s a perspective thing, or maybe just having the poem read aloud to a room of men with every reason to give up hope, and yet--they haven’t.  

           

***************************************

           

            Damon wakes between two warm bodies. His body tenses instantly, hardly daring to breathe, but in the next instant he recognizes Derek’s profile lying beside him in the bed.

_I’m in Derek’s bed?_

_No, Stiles was.  Their marriage; their room.  Not my place, not my bed.  My bed is upstairs in the room Derek gave me all my own._

_So should I get up to cook breakfast? But I can’t without waking them.   It’s barely light outside; it’s early.  I can stay here; I’ll be good and quiet and still until they wake.  Then I can make something quick for breakfast; I’ll cut up some fruit for them to eat while I scramble eggs and make toast.  It will be enough I think.  I can keep cooking more while they get ready if Derek or Isaac wants a bigger breakfast._

With his plan of action decided, Damon relaxes a bit, but he still can’t quite dampen the nagging feeling that he should be doing something more certainly useful.  His head is starting to ache, and he closes his eyes against the dull pain of it.  He’s had much worse in Stiles’ memories.  But then the dull ache starts to feel more like knives stabbing through his skull over and over and _over_. Until he can’t bear the pain in silence anymore, so he brings his hand up to clamp it over his mouth as a whimper escapes his lips.  

“Stiles?” Derek mumbles, opening his eyes as he turns his face to Damon’s.

“Oh, no, Derek; I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you.  I’ll--I’ll go in the den and--and--” his words choke off into a whine as the sound of his own voice amplifies to an agonizing level, ringing in his ears.  

“It’s okay; It’s okay,” Derek soothes.  “Are you--you’re Damon?” he asks.

“Yes, Derek,” he gasps through the pain.

“What’s wrong, Damon? What is it?”

“My head. It--it _hurts_ , Derek,” he whimpers.  “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you, I just--it _hurts!_ ”

The last word tapers off into a wail.  Isaac’s voice joins Derek’s; both of them are trying to soothe, but the pain is overtaking all other sensation.  He prays that any moment one of them will be merciful enough to pull some away, even just the tiniest bit.  Damon’s sure his head will split open any moment; surely he’ll lose consciousness soon.  

   “Dying, Derek. Help; I’m _dying_ ,” he sobs, unsure if the words even come out intelligibly.  “Help me, _please_!”

 _Make it stop. Please make it stop.  Oh God, I’ll do anything you want, just please take some of the pain away.  Do something. Please, please, Alpha, have mercy; help me. Please, Derek; please!_           

 

*******************************************

 

            Isaac wakes to whimpers of pain that give way to a soul-piercing shriek as Stiles thrashes in the bed beside him.

            “Damon, what hurts? Does something hurt? I’ll take the pain if I can, just _talk_ to me,” Derek begs.

            “Damon? Damon’s back?”

            “Yeah, he just got out a few words and then he said his head hurt, but I can’t take any of the pain away,” Derek’s worried eyes leave Damon to find Isaac’s face as the answer comes.  “It’s psychosomatic, isn’t it? Memories?”

            “I guess so? It’s the--the best explanation?” Isaac says.  “I’ll call Deaton?”

            “Yeah, yeah, call Deaton,” Derek agrees, reaching to grasp Damon’s hands as Damon shrieks Derek’s name over and over, pleading for help his Alpha can’t give.   “I’m here, Damon; I got you,” Derek soothes.  “It’ll stop; I promise.  Just hold on.  I got you. You’re safe. It’ll stop.”

            But it doesn’t stop--at least not right away.  For nearly half an hour, he screams and writhes in pain.  Despite their best efforts to take pain or try to comfort him, Derek and Isaac are every bit as helpless as they were all those months ago when Stiles first endured the reemergence of his memories.  When he finally, finally, starts to emerge from the mental anguish, Damon shakes like a leaf in Derek’s arms, muttering unintelligibly.

            “Damon? Can you hear me?” Derek asks, and Damon’s whole body flinches at the words.  

            “Y--y--yes, Al--al--alpha,” Damon stammers, gasping like it hurts to force the words out, “I’m--ss--ssorry,” he whimpers. “So--so sorry.”

            “It’s okay, Damon; it’s okay. It’s memories; I think.  I would pull the pain if I could, but it doesn’t work like that.”

            “Sorry, Derek,” Damon repeats. “So sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry,” Damon repeats over and over.

            “Tell us how to help,” Isaac requests.

            “Anything, Isaac, I can do anything,” Damon replies.  “I can be good. I can be quiet and still.  I’m trying; I’m trying, but--but--I can’t--and--I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m so _so_ sorry.”

            “It’s okay; it’s okay,” Derek soothes, tightening his embrace on Damon in an apparent attempt to calm him, but Damon shrinks away from the touch, clearly warring with the urge to push away and the training that demands he stay still.  

            Derek releases him, and Damon curls into a small ball on the bed, burying his head in his arms as he sobs “I’m sorry; I’m sorry,” over and over again.  Isaac’s own heartbreak is mirrored in Derek’s face as their eyes meet across Damon’s miserable cries.

            _What the hell do we do now?_

 

******************************

 

            Derek dials the number only to get Cora’s voicemail.  So of course, he dials again. And again. and _again_.

            “Derek, what the _fuck_ is wrong?” Cora demands from the other end of the line.  “It’s too goddamn early for a pack crisis.  I’m gonna _kill_ you slowly and painfully if something isn’t _seriously fucked._ ”

            “I-- _we_ \--need your help.”

            “At six in the morning?”

            “It’s Damon,” he says by way of explanation, and while she groans in response, she doesn’t hang up, which he takes as a good sign.  “He--uh--I think he got a lot of Stiles’ bad memories.  You weren’t here when we first got Stiles back,but it’s--just imagine like a dozen or two awful flashbacks crammed into one long, extremely painful migraine.”

            “Not fun.”

            “No.”

            “And he’s scared of you again?” she supposes.  

            “He needs someone who can comfort him, and we--can’t right now,” Derek confirms, struggling to keep his voice even over the last three words.  “Will you help? I know it’s not your job to--”

            “Sure it is,” she interjects.  “Damon’s pack; you’re my stupid big brother who’s allowed to annoy me with favors.  No matter how you look at it I am obligated to help out or be doomed to feel like a shitty packmate and sister for the foreseeable future.  I’ll avoid the guilt and note the good behavior in the list of reasons you should buy me awesome shit for my birthday.”

“I really appreciate this.”

“I know you do, Sourwolf; I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, Cora.”

 

***************************************

 

            _Be useful, you pathetic whimpering lump!_ the Alphas demand.   _Get up! Get out of this bed, and stop sniveling like a useless little weakling! Make yourself useful!_

“Br--br--breakfast,” Damon manages to say as the higher beta continues to try and calm him.  “I--I can m--make--br--breakfast.”

            “Damon, you don’t have to do that. You’re okay; you’re safe with us.  We don’t expect you to work every second you’re here. No one’s going to hurt you.”

            _It’s a trick! Of course they expect something of you! They’re testing to see if you’re stupid and ungrateful enough to believe you actually deserve anything  you haven’t earned!_ Thomas claims, voice ringing in Damon’s ears every bit as loudly as if he were here screaming it aloud.  

            “Th--thank you, b--but--I--I w--want to. The--the alpha needs breakfast. Y--you too. I c--can be good.”

            “You’re always good, Damon. You don’t have to prove it,” the beta replies.

            _Isaac; Isaac; he’s Isaac. Not just a beta.  Isaac.  Because those were memories; all just bad memories; I’m in the new Hale Pack now.  But I want to stay; I have to stay; so I have to be useful._

“Pl-please, Isaac? _Please_?” he implores.

            “If you’d like to, you can,” Isaac agrees.  “Of course you can.”

            “Th--thank you.”

            He stands on shaky legs, unsure if he’s ever going to be able to stop all this trembling and be still and good like he’s supposed to be.  

            _Derek’s patient; Derek’s patient; he’ll give me time to learn to make myself still again.  I will; I will; my head just hurts so much and there were so many memories and it was--_

“Damon?” Derek’s voice cuts through his internal monologue, and Damon falls to his knees, hanging his head and clasping his hands together to try and hide the shaking.

            “I--I w-wanted to m-make br-breakfast pl--please,” he stammers, unable to lift his head toward Derek, though he knows it’s what the Alpha prefers.  

            “Yeah, Damon, of course,” Derek allows instantly.  “Whatever you’d like.  If you feel like--like that’ll help you--uh--calm down then--then yeah, that would be great, really great.  I--I appreciate it.”

            “I’m h--happy to, Alph--Derek.”

            “Can I help you up?” Derek wonders, reaching slowly toward Damon, but Damon still can’t manage to stop the flinch when he catches the movement from the corner of his eye; Derek backs off immediately.  “Sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.  I’m not gonna hurt you.”

            “Y--yes, Derek; th--thank you.”

            _Because you could hurt me.  You could.  I saw it; I know.  You ripped him apart--the man Peter who was your Second.  You tore him to pieces and slashed his heart out of his chest.  So much blood everywhere, it seemed like you both should be dead, but you didn’t die.  You won.  You left his body on the floor and carried Stiles away._

_But you promise you’d never hurt him; over and over and over you said it; and you promise you won’t hurt me._

_But you could if you wanted to._

_I saw it; I know._

Damon manages to regain his feet and resume his trek to the kitchen.  Derek doesn’t move an inch as Damon walks by, but when Damon’s across the room he does speak again.

            “I’ll--I’ll be in the den if--if you need anything,” Derek says, “and--uh--Cora’s coming.  She wanted to come help with--with everything,” he finishes vaguely. “Since you were nice enough to work with her last time.”

            “Y--yes, Derek, of c--course. I know how to train g--good betas,” he answers, word out before he really comprehends what he’s saying.  

            “What?”

            “No!--No, I--I was confused--I didn’t mean--”

            The horrific memory plays in Damon’s mind, a beautiful, blonde beta writhing and shrieking in pain beneath him as he deals out the punishment, screaming for mercy as she begs him to stop.  Alphas voice ringing in his ears that he must punish her or be punished himself.  He clamps a hand against his mouth, stifling his sob as he struggles to force the memory away.

            “It’s okay, Damon; it’s okay,” Derek assures.  “I just--I didn’t understand what that meant.”

            “It’s different in this pack; different, Derek; I know,” Damon assures words flowing more freely spurred by his panic.  “N--no hurting people. I won’t hurt her, Derek, if you don’t want me to. I _promise._ I--I just--it was a memory and I--I didn’t mean to think it or say it or do it. I promise I’ll be good.  I promise; I promise; I promise!”

            “I know; I know you will.  You’re a great beta, Damon.  I know.”

            “Thank you, Derek; thank you.  I’ll--I’ll get back to breakfast. Do you--do you want anything in particular? I can make anything  you’d like.”

            “Whatever you choose will be perfect, Damon. Thank you.”

            “Thank _you_ , Derek.”

            _Thank you for this pack, for not hurting me or wanting me to hurt anyone, for letting me stay and make breakfast. Thank you for making this pack so different from all those horrible things I saw. Thank you; thank you; thank you._

 

******************************************************************

 

            Derek meets Cora at the car.  She looks annoyed with the world, hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, sweatpants, and a t-shirt for a band Derek doesn’t know.  He smiles in greeting, letting a bit of the tension ebb away at the thought of having someone here who can help Stiles--Damon.  

            “Thank you for coming,” he says earnestly.  “I know it’s early as fuck, but--”

            “No one else to call; I know,” she replies dismissively.  “One condition though,” she goes on.  

            “Huh?”

            “You said he--uh--he’s got a bunch of flashbacks? So like, way more memories of the alpha pack, right?”

            “Yeah. We think so anyway.  He’s not exactly in a chatty mood. That’s what we were hoping you could help with.”

            “Right. Okay,” she says, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

For the first time Derek considers what it might be costing his sister to help Stiles.  This looks like more than just annoyance or inconvenience.

            “So you’ve got a condition?” he prompts, reminding her of the earlier claim.

            “Yeah, ‘cause if--if I’m gonna do this favor for you guys, I need you to do a favor for me.”

            “You’re my sister, Cora; if you need a favor you don’t have to--”

            “I know; I know,” she interjects.  “I just mean--look I can’t help him if anyone else is here.”

            “What do you mean? Why not?”

            “Because I think--I’m gonna have to get him talking about it, which is gonna go better if he feels like I can empathize, and--and I’m just not gonna talk about that in front of anybody else.”

            The horrible words leave his baby sister’s lips, and Derek feels like he’s been punched in the gut.  She’s mentioned before that she had bad packs, but never, _never_ did Derek think about the possibility that Cora endured things similar to Stiles’ time with the alphas.  

            “Don’t fucking look at me like that,” she orders.  “I don’t need your goddamn pity.”

            “It’s not _pity._ I just--I didn’t realize it was--”

            “It’s nothing like his shit,” she replies with a vague wave up toward the house.  “Just some assholes here and there.  I got past it. I got back home.  I’m fine now.”

            “Yeah, but I--we should--if you ever want to talk about--”

            “You hate talking just as much as I do,” she points out, rolling her eyes.  

            “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I--”

            “I know,” she says, cutting him off, “and thanks, okay?” she adds, moving to put a hand on Derek’s shoulder as she forces a smile. “But I _don’t_ want to talk about it, and if I end up needing to so I can help Damon out a little, I _really_ don’t want people listening in.”

            It’s not an unreasonable request; Sitles has the same condition when he meets with Holly.

            “Okay, but--but are you sure you’ll be alright? If he switches to the other personality, the one with no memory--”

            “Keep your cell on,” she replies.  “I can hold my own until you get here--if I had to.”

            “We won’t be far; out of earshot, but close enough to come back the minute you need us.”

            “ _Swear_ you won’t come back ‘til I call,” she demands.

            “I swear,” Derek says, despite the desire to know more about the time Cora spent on her own.  “And seriously, we all really appreciate you doing this.”

            “Better get a helluva birthday present,” she answers with a smirk, giving him a playful punch to the shoulder before she moves past him to approach the house.

 

******************************************************

 

            “Damon?”

            He startles at the noise but relaxes slightly to see it’s just Cora.  She smiles at him for a moment or two before averting her eyes.  

            “Anything I can help with?” she wonders, hopeful tone in her voice undeniable.

            He wants company but is simultaneously terrified by the thought of handing over his task to anyone else.  

            _She did well last time; she won’t mess it up; Derek was pleased that I could help teach her things.  He wants us to get along._

“Y--yes, the cantaloupe needs to be sliced up,” he replies with a nod toward the counter where the fruit lies.  “Then those oranges,” he adds, turning his attention back to the bacon and eggs he’s preparing.

            “Damon?” Isaac says, stepping slowly into the room.  

            He manages to keep his feet by gripping hard to the edge of the counter.

            _They don’t like me to kneel in this pack; they don’t like me to kneel,_ he reminds himself.

            “Y--yes, Isaac?” he stammers, keeping his head down as he turns toward the higher beta.  

            “Derek and I were wondering if you’d mind us just taking our breakfast with us on a walk.  We--uh--just wanted a little fresh air.”

            “Yes, Isaac, of c--course. We’ll p--pack everything for y--you.  It’ll be ready s--soon.”

            “Make sure and leave an equal amount here for you and Cora,” Isaac instructs.  

            “Th--thank you.”

            “Of course, Damon.  Thank _you._ ”

            With Cora to help it’s short work to finish up making the meal.  They take plastic containers from the cabinets to pack all the food up for Derek and Isaac, but when Damon moves to put the lid on he can’t quite manage to quell the shaking enough to seal it.

            “Can I?” Cora wonders, moving her hands slowly toward Damon’s, fingers brushing against him as she grasps the container he’s struggling with.

            “Yes, thank you.”

            “I don’t mind,” she says earnestly, and he smiles at her kindness, leaving her to seal the containers as he goes to find a cooler bag to put them all in.

            Once Isaac and Derek leave, Damon’s fear ebbs just a bit, replaced with the anxiety that they may choose not to come back.  The worry twists in his gut, stealing away any appetite for the food the Alpha so generously left them.  Nevertheless, he dutifully chews and swallows one bit of fruit after the other until Cora interrupts him.

            “You’re not really hungry, are you?” she wonders.

            “It’s disrespectful to waste food your Alpha gives you,” he replies in lieu of a direct answer.

            “Yes,” she agrees, “but he won’t mind if you save it for later,” she points out.  “Derek’s more understanding than our old alphas were.  It’s different here.”

            At the words he looks up and across the table at the lower beta.  Her eyes are down on her plate, but she slowly raises her face to his as the silence between them grows.

            “I forgot you weren’t always here,” he says.  

            It’s only logical of course.  She’s a lower beta than Stiles--and so then Damon--which would mean that she must have been absent at some point, despite being the Alpha’s sister.

            “There was a fire,” she says, “I don’t know if you know that.”

            Damon shakes his head.  “No.”

            “It killed most of our family--most of the original Hale Pack,” she says.  “I was separated from Derek.  Neither of us knew the other was still alive.  I had to make it on my own for a while--try to find other packs who’d take me in.”

            “How old were you?” he wonders, curiosity bringing forth the question before he can think better of it.  

            “Ten,” she replies.

            “ _Ten_? On your own?”

            _You’re lucky you survived at all.  Incredibly lucky._

“Yeah.”

            “You must have found a pack quickly,” he supposes.

            “Stayed with the first one I came across,” she confirms with a nod.  “They weren’t the greatest, but I was too scared to be on my own.  Being Omega was the worst thing I could imagine.”

            “Me too,” Damon agrees, eyes flitting to the door through which Derek and Isaac left.  

            “They’ll be back,” she says.  “Derek always comes back.”

            He nods, pushing his chair back from the table and lifting his plate as he rises to his feet.  “I’ll put this up for later,” he says, “and if I’m not going to eat, I may as well clean the kitchen.”

            “That’s different here too, you know that, right?” she asks.  “Not that--I mean I’ll help you clean up and all.  There’s nothing wrong with it, but--but Derek wouldn’t be angry at us if he came back and it wasn’t done.”

            “It’s disrespectful to--”

            “How did they teach it to you?” she wonders.  “Pull your own weight because no pack tolerates dead weight? Or--uh--if you don’t contribute to the pack why should you get to stay? Something like that?”

            He hesitates a moment, looking for a trick in the words, but she just seems curious.  He’s not surprised it’s a lesson she’s been taught--maybe by more than one pack.  It’s a pragmatic thing to teach betas.

            “If you’re not being useful you’re being a burden,” he replies, “and burdens are cut loose from the pack.”

            She nods.  “But like I said--it’s different with Derek.  He appreciates the help, but it’s not--he wouldn’t ever kick us out over how much work we did or didn’t do. He wouldn’t kick us out for anything.”

            “You’ve got an advantage that makes that less of a risk to test,” Damon says.  “You’re his sister.”

            “You’re sharing a body with his husband,” she reminds.  “You’ve got an advantage too.”

            Damon’s never considered that.  Stiles is irrevocably tied to him in that there’s only one body for the both of them.  To abandon one would be to abandon the other, and surely Derek wouldn’t send Stiles away.  No, just the single memory of their wedding day Derek gave Damon is more than enough to conclude Derek’s incomprehensible adoration for both his husbands.  He wouldn’t ever want to lose Stiles.

            _Which means he has to keep me too,_ Damon realizes it.

            It isn’t a limit he wants to test by any means.  He still _wants_ to be a helpful part of this pack even if Derek’s expectations aren’t as demanding as those ingrained in Damon’s mind.  Nevertheless, the thought soothes a bit of Damon’s apprehension at the idea of being less than worthy to stay in the Hale Pack.

            _Even if I’m not a beta worth keeping, Derek thinks Stiles is.  As long as Stiles has a place, I have a safety net.  It’s not foolproof, but it’s something; it’s definitely something._

And after all the horrible scenes of Stiles’ past pack, Damon will take all the reassurance he can get.

“And I know that it’s all really confusing for you.  It took me a while to get used to the way Derek runs the pack, too.  So if you ever want to talk or--or maybe ask questions or something--we can.  I’d like to help, if I can,” she goes on.

“That’s good of you,” he praises automatically, “to want to help.”

“I’m glad to,” she answers with a genuine smile.

“But I’m okay,” Damon tells her.  “I understand enough for now.”

_At least I hope so. But maybe I should talk to her.  Maybe she has some information that can help me adapt more quickly._

But the aversion to displaying any vulnerability to another beta stills Damon’s tongue.  He likes Cora--enjoys her company even, but he’s not _quite_ certain he wants to share with her the endless list of confusing memories and ingrained training he needs to reconcile with this pack.  Not yet anyway.

 

**********************************************

 

            Isaac and Derek make their way toward the pond in silence.  Neither of them suggested a location, but it’s the natural gravitation it seems.  Isaac wishes they’d gone someplace else when they spread the blanket in the usual spot.  Stiles is usually the one who asks to come here, and there’s too much empty space on the blanket without him here.

            “I hate not being able to help him,” Isaac says, breaking the silence.  “I mean--I’m really glad Cora can because I don’t know what we’d do otherwise, but--this is just--”

            He lets the sentence trail off, unable to find the words to express just how horrible it all feels.

            “Yeah, it sucks,” Derek agrees simply, laying back on the blanket.  “You eat if you want; I’m not hungry.”

            “Me either,” Isaac replies, following suit and stretching out on the blanket facing Derek.  

            Derek turns toward him, but he doesn’t close the space between them, the space where Stiles would normally lay.

            _Not crowded, safe,_ Isaac can’t help but think.

            “How much worse is it?” Derek wonders finally, “that it’s dissociative identity and not just memory problems?”

            “Define ‘worse’,” Isaac requests.  

            “I just mean--I dunno with the memory thing, it was all theory and Deaton hoping that his mind could kind of heal and restructure the memory cortexes and that stuff,” Derek replies, paraphrasing the endless conversations they had in the earlier days of Stiles’ struggles.  “This DID stuff is something normal humans have, right? How’s it work out with them? Is there--just--what kind of odds are we looking at?”

            “You make it sound like it’s cancer survival rate statistic or something I can give you.  There’s no precedent for what happened to Stiles; you know that.”

            “You know what I’m asking.”

            “And you know damn well I can’t give you a solid answer,” Isaac replies tersely.  “It’s good that we can identify what it is at least,” Isaac supposes.  “It gives us a starting point, but it’s a field of psychology that varies; there’s still plenty they don’t understand.”

            “Right, yeah, of course,” Derek replies defeatedly, and Isaac regrets snapping at him, however true the words might have been.

            “At least I know what to research the hell out of,” Isaac adds.  “I’m gonna find out whatever I can.  Holly gave me tips for research on the internet, and I’ve got the whole library at school, there’s bound to be some good stuff there.”

            “I can help,” Derek adds.  “I don’t expect you to do all the work; you’re just--you’ve got a knack for it.”

            “And you’ve got a phobia for feelings,” Isaac teases.

            “Runs in the family apparently.”

            “Apparently,” Isaac says.  “I wish she’d talk to Holly, but at least she’s talking to someone.”

            “She’s talking to a traumatized, fabricated personality split off of Stiles.  That really the best audience to actually help her?” Derek wonders skeptically.

            “She’s talking to Stiles,” Isaac corrects.  “Maybe he’s got a different name for himself, different mannerisms, different memories, but at the core, it’s still Stiles.  Smart as hell and a good heart.  She could do worse.”

“I know that--I didn’t mean--I don’t know what I meant.”

“I get what you’re saying though,” Isaac allows.  “He’s Stiles, but he’s not.  Still, maybe they can help each other.  It’s not a bad silver lining to the whole scenario.”

“No,” Derek agrees.  “But I still wish there was more we could do; for both of them.”

“We’ll manage,” Isaac says, willing the words to be true.  “We always do.”

_Tomorrow will be better._

 

**********************************************************************

 

            Derek and Isaac are incredibly patient throughout the day.  They’re careful not to startle Damon; they speak in gentle tones; they praise every task he and Cora complete together.  It’s an unbelievable contrast to the atrocious scenes playing over and over again in the back of Damon’s mind.  He’s grateful to have their kindness to contradict the horrible things the voices whisper from time to time.  

It’s not until Isaac and Derek bid Damon and Cora goodnight that Damon starts to feel panic setting in.  The idea of being completely alone with the thoughts and memories and voices bouncing through his head terrifies him.  He thinks briefly of begging to be allowed back into their bed, but he realizes the moment the thinks of it that he has no right to ask that.  It’s a place for Stiles, not Damon, and besides, Derek gets so upset when Damon offers to go to bed with anyone.  He might mistake what Damon was asking for.

            He shudders involuntarily at the thought, mind flashing the gory scenes of Derek’s battle with his former second.

            _He wouldn’t do that to me.  He won’t. He’s promised over and over,_ Damon reminds himself.

            _Why shouldn’t he?_ the alphas argue.   _You could heal before Stiles was back; sharing the body of an alpha’s mate is no absolute protection.  He still has every right to rend your useless flesh whenever he wants, until you howl in pain beneath him, blood gurgling in your ruined throat like Peter’s did.  Don’t be fooled into thinking you’re safe; no beta is ever safe; all betas are at the mercy of their Alpha’s good graces.  You’ll cross a line with Derek eventually; you’re bound to fuck it all up._

“No,” Damon protests.

            “What?” Cora asks.

            “Nothing,” he answers quickly.  “Nevermind.”

            “I think I might go to bed soon too,” Cora says.  “You tired?”

            “No, I--I’m going to work on some other things,” he replies, mentally compiling a list of tasks quiet enough not to disturb the alpha’s sleep.  “You can sleep if you’d like.”

            “I can help you,” she offers.  

            “No, you can sleep; you did very well today, Cora; thank you.”

            “I’m glad to help; I like working with you.”  He smiles at the earnesty in her voice as she says it.  “You remind me of a friend I used to have--in another pack.”

            _Friend in another pack. So this isn’t the first pack where you’ve had them.  You’ve got experience with the kind of dynamics Derek wants._

It’s another reminder that she really might have information that could ease Damon’s transition to functioning in a way that Derek finds preferable to his current instincts.

“Oh?” he says, nudging the conversation a bit further.

            She nods. “His name was Ty.  I think you two would have been good friends.”

He almost asks what happened to her friend Ty, but the way she purses her lips and turns away lead Damon to assume the question is better left unasked.  Cora’s prone to share more than the average beta anyhow; if she wants Damon to know, she’ll bring it up later.  Maybe Damon can bring it up later, as something to talk about besides work; something to help them bond perhaps.

            “You should get some rest,” Damon tells her.

            “I think I’ll just nap on the couch a little,” she replies.  “I’m not all that tired, and then if you need help with anything I’ll be close by.”

            “Okay.”

            She’s a good beta, trained well by those packs she joined after she was separated from Derek.  It doesn’t take much direction to remind her of the lessons she’s been taught before.  Damon’s pleasantly surprised at her competency; he’s even more pleased with the fact that Derek would rather the two of them get along than compete for approval.  

At first Damon couldn’t understand why Derek would want the pack to function like a family, with human friendships intertwined in the pack dynamic.  Now he understands it’s another gift from his generous Alpha.  Derek no doubt knows that his betas enjoy the casual interactions and so spares them the tension of a highly competitive pack.  

_I bet there’s no other pack like this anywhere, not from the memories I’ve got or the things Cora seems to know.  I bet we’re one in a million._

The idea quickly transitions from marvelous to petrifying as the memories paint a vivid scene of what awaits if Damon ever loses this pack.  As Cora moves to the den to nap, he hurries back to the kitchen, taking the dust rag and furniture polish from the cupboard under the sink and attempting to busy himself by dusting and polishing.  It works for a while to distract from the fear that’s threatening to encompass him completely, but eventually he starts to tire, taking a seat at the dining room table just for a moment.

_If I just close my eyes for a moment or two, it’ll be enough; I’ll rest just a little to be more attentive to the tasks, not really sleeping. Just resting my eyes..._

 

******************************************************************

 

            Derek wakes to Stiles’ screams, bolting up from the bed and out into the hall before he’s really even conscious of his movements.  It’s only Isaac’s voice and hand tugging at his arm that manage to slow Derek down.

            “Wait, Derek, wait,” Isaac implores.  “We’re gonna scare him.”

            “What the hell are you--oh--oh, right.”

 _Not Stiles’ screaming; Damon’s. And Damon’s fucking terrified of us today._  

“Cora’s got him,” Isaac adds.  “Listen.”

 

******************************************************************

 

            “Damon, wake up! It’s just a nightmare! Just wake up!” Cora’s voice demands.  

            He finally manages to wrench his eyes open, taking in the sight of her worried face over his rather that the vivid red eyes of a past alpha’s rage that towered over him just moments before.  

            _Hale pack. I’m here. I’m okay.  It was a nightmare.  Just a nightmare._

“You’re safe, okay? Nobody’s gonna hurt you,” Cora soothes, moving to embrace him, but Damon’s skin crawls at the touch, feeling as though he’s trapped.

            “Don’t!” he orders, pulling away and rising to his feet to retreat across the room.  

            “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to--”

            “You’re not in trouble; I don’t mind,” he assures hurriedly, lest she fear upsetting a higher beta.  “Just--just please don’t touch me.”

            “Okay.”

            “Good.”

            “How do I help then?”

            “I don’t need help; I’m fine.”

            “You’re shaking like a leaf, Damon,” she counters, drawing attention to his weakness.

            “I’m fine!” he snaps.  “Be quiet; be good; go back to the den and sleep.”

            “I just--”

            “Cora, _don’t make me tell you again_ ,” he says warningly, and the look of hurt on her face at the threatening tone makes him rein in his temper.

She opens her mouth as if to speak again, but closes it instead, hanging her head submissively as she turns to leave.

“Wait,” he bids before she can leave the room entirely.

“Yes?” she replies, not turning to face him.

“Thank you, for--for waking me and trying to help.  It was good of you.  I just--there’s nothing more you can do. That’s all I mean.  You understand?”

She nods, turning to face him now.  “Yes, I understand,” she replies, as her eyes meet Damon’s.  “I have nightmares like that, too.”

“Oh.”

            It saddens him to think of her enduring similar terrors.  He takes a step or two to close the gap between them, wanting to reach out and touch her, a comforting hand on her shoulder or holding her hand perhaps.  The ways Isaac and Derek try to comfort Damon.  But he’s not sure he can take the contact right now, the idea alone makes it harder to breathe, like the walls are closing in.

            “I know contact helps sometimes, but sometimes it makes it worse,” she says, and Damon nods.  “But sometimes company helps when contact doesn’t,” she adds.  “I already got a little rest; I could stay up with you if you want--if you’re trying to stay awake.”

            She’s no doubt noticed that Damon awoke at the dining table rather than in his bed.  There’s no point in denying that he wasn’t intending to go to bed tonight.  He debates a moment or two before employing one of Derek’s generous answers.

            “Whatever you’d like to do will be good, Cora,” he says.  

            She smiles at the answer.  

            “I’d like to stay up with you,” she tells him.  “I’ll make us some hot chocolate. You like hot chocolate?”

            “Too much sugar,” he answers, shaking his head.  “Don’t waste a packet on me.”

“Apple cider then? It’s just the cheap mix stuff, but it’s pretty good.”

“We should really do something more useful if we’re going to be awake,” he reminds.

“What if we look through the cookbooks while we drink?” she wonders.  “We can find something fancy and awesome to make for breakfast. Does that sound okay?”

“That sounds great,” Damon replies with a smile.  “I’ll get the books while you make the drinks,” he tells her, moving to take some of the cookbooks off the small shelf by the pantry.   

“Awesome!”

            They sit going through books for far longer than necessary, compiling lists of the many dishes that seem delicious and different from the usual array.  Cora helps Damon by advising Derek’s favorite foods, details Damon hasn’t fully memorized just yet.  He can’t help but marvel a bit at how well they’ve been working all day, and well into the night now--and even before today, last time he was here and so fearful of Isaac. It’s not the dynamic he expected; his mistrust is steadily waning.  Cora’s not a competitor or a threat.  They’re not higher and lower beta as much as they are a team.

            _A team._

_The rank doesn’t matter with us, not really.  She understands I’m higher, and that’s good I suppose.  But I don’t want her to think she can’t talk to me or help or correct me.  I like just working on tasks together. Being a team._

_Being friends,_ he realizes as he casts a glance over at Cora while she scans the pages of the book on the table before them.   _My friend Cora,_ he thinks with a smile.   _Maybe I’ll be able to figure out this pack’s dynamic after all..._

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank y'all for your patience between updates! You rock!

            Derek falls asleep to the sound of Cora and Damon’s murmuring voices in the kitchen.  the content tones put a bit of his worry at ease, but he still doesn’t feel rested when he wakes hours later.  

            “Morning,” Isaac says from across the bed.

            “You get any sleep?” he wonders.

            “Yeah, but I kept having dreams--the ones I can’t really remember.”

            “Do you ever--ever wonder if--”

            “Wonder what?” Isaac prompts when Derek stalls.

            “Nothing.”

            “Tell me.  Please?” Isaac persists, scooting a bit closer to Derek and turning on his side to face him.  “What’s on your mind?”

            “Do you ever wonder if those nightmares you can’t remember are--are something to do with the memories I took away?”

            “Derek, don’t overthink that.  It was one little thing you took, a few hours, right?”

            “Yeah, but--the kind of house that seem like days,” Derek points out, turning to face Isaac and trying not to think back to the torture Isaac endured when the Alphas took them.  “It was--was a big deal, ya know?”

            “Sure, but I’ve always had nightmares.  Even if it is something to do with you taking memories, it’s a small price to pay, a little troubled sleep verses nightmares of actually reliving it.”

            “I guess,” Derek answers, turning to lie on his back again.

            “What else?”

            “Nothing else.”

            “Stiles?” Isaac guesses, a broad but predictable topic of worry.  He’s quiet for a few moments more before he supposes, “Wondering about the effects of taking more memories than just a couple hours?”

            “Don’t you wonder about it?”

            “Sometimes,” Isaac admits.

            “You know his first inclination was never to let me block anything,” Derek reminds.  “Maybe we should have gone with his gut.  Maybe we should---”

            “Don’t do this to yourself.”

            “I’m just saying--”

            “Even if--and it’s a big ‘if’--there are some ill effects from that, it’s _nothing_ compared to the original trauma, Derek.  If my psych classes teach me anything, it’s that sometimes helping people overcome things like Stiles has been through isn’t as straightforward as we’d like it to be. Hardly anything is foolproof and certain in psychology.  All you can do is make your best estimate of what will help people.   Sometimes it’s hit or miss.   The important thing is that Stiles _did_ decide he wanted to try blocking, and we tried it.”

“And look where we’re at now.”

“This was never going to be an easy fix.  We’re all doing the best we can.”

“Our best isn’t good enough.”

“So we keep working on it, keep trying to figure out what he needs, what helps him,” Isaac says.  “Like Cora.  It’s the right call to make, letting her step up because she can help more than you.  You’re doing everything you know to do, Derek.  We both are.”

“It’s still frustrating as fuck.  I hate this.”

“Me too, but--we’ll get through it,” Isaac assures.  “It’ll get better.”

“I shouldn’t be dumping all this on you,” Derek says with a sigh, forcing himself to sit up and swing his feet to the floor.  “I’m sorry. I just--”

“We all get to have off days,” Isaac interjects.  “Don’t apologize.  This is exhausting shit we’re trying to tackle.”

“Understatement,” Derek mutters, rising from the bed to seek a shirt from the dresser.  

He picks up his phone from the nightstand, checking messages to see there’s a text from Cora that reads ‘He’s proud of breakfast so you better fucking LOVE it, Sourwolf.”  he turns his phone to show Isaac.

“Guess we should get down to breakfast.”

 

*****************************************************************

 

            “They’re coming,” Damon says, though Cora can surely hear the footsteps on the stairs just as well as he can.  

            The elation of the past two hours gives way to apprehension as the Alpha’s entrance draws nearer.  

            _What if he thinks it’s too frivolous? What if it wasn’t the best use of my time? What if he doesn’t like poached eggs or zucchini muffins or--_

“He’s going to love all of it, Damon,” Cora assures quietly.  “Don’t worry.”

            Damon’s breath still catches in his chest when Derek and Isaac appear, and he feels as though someone just doused him in ice water.  Then both Derek and Isaac smile at the sight of the food arranged on the counter: the watermelon rind shaped into a basket that holds the cubed fruits he and Cora prepared, the muffins arranged on a platter, the pans on the stove filled with eggs, sweet potato hash browns, bacon, and sausage.  Damon’s proud of the array, and it seems Derek and Isaac are more than pleased with his and Cora’s work.

            “Wow, Damon, this is fantastic!” Derek praises.  “Everything looks awesome!”

            “Cora helped,” Damon replies.  “We--we found recipes in the books and--and we decided to try some new ones.”

            “Damon did most of the hard stuff,” Cora says.  “I mostly stuck to cubing the fruit.”

            “But she’s learning, Derek,” Damon assures.  “She helped find the recipes and prep things.  She watched so she’ll know how if she needs to prepare it without me.”

            Derek’s smile widens as he supposes, “You two had a good time working together?”

            “Yes, Derek,” Damon and Cora reply together, and Damon can’t help but smile as he casts a quick glance over at Cora. She’s smiling, too.

            “We make a pretty good team, I think,” she says, and Damon nods.

            “It sure looks like it,” Isaac agrees with a motion to all the food.  “This is seriously impressive.”

            “Yeah, it really is.  Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Derek adds.

            “It won’t, Derek; I know how to keep it ready. I won’t let it get cold before you’re ready to eat, Derek. I swear,” Damon blurts as his knees buckle.  “I--I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to--to kneel, Derek,” he stammers as he tries to regain his composure enough to stand. “I just--it sounded like--something in--in a memory--and I--I thought--but, but it’s different here. It’s different.  I know. I’m sorry.”

            “That’s okay, Damon; nothing to worry about,” Derek replies kindly.  “You have a lot of memories to process; you have all the time you need to adjust to--to anything.”

            “Yeah, and you’re safe with us, now,” Cora says, offering a hand to help Damon back to his feet.  

            “Th--thanks,” he replies, taking the hand she offers and regaining his feet.  “D--derek’s right we should eat before--it--it gets cold.”

            “The plates are on the end of the bar,” Cora says.  

            “You and Damon grab plates too,” Derek instructs.  “Have as much of everything as you want.  It all looks too good to miss out on.”

            “Thank you, Derek,” they reply in unison again, getting another smile from Cora that Damon manages to mirror.

            “C’mon,” she says.  “We’ll pour the coffee and juice.”

           

*****************************

 

            When it’s time for Isaac to go to class, Derek offers to drive him, leaving Damon and Cora to their own devices.  The first task is naturally cleaning up from breakfast, which went so well Damon could hardly believe it.  It was clear Derek enjoyed the food, but even more so he said over and over how glad he was that Damon and Cora worked as a team.  For the first time Damon truly feels like he’s managed to understand at least a little bit about the pack dynamic Derek wants.  It’s elating to say the least.

            “How about some music?” Cora wonders, as she pauses after drying the last washed plate.  “What kind of music do you like?” she asks as she walks over to the radio mounted under the cabinet.  

            “I don’t know,” he replies.  “You can pick something.”

            “I’ll scan,” she offers.  “Tell me when you hear something you like.”

“Okay.”

The first station is too noisy and upbeat; his brain supplies the genre “techno” but it doesn’t make him like it any better so Damon shakes his head.    The second station blares the strong melody of a full orchestra, and the sound chills Damon to his core.  

“No!”

The protest comes out in something that’s a mix of a growl and a whimper.  He moves to cross the kitchen and silence the radio himself as he tries to banish the memories the sound conjures.  Cora beats him to it, hurriedly jamming the power button to quiet the sound.

“Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t think--”

“It’s fine,” Damon replies, forcing himself to take a slow calming breath, shaking his head as though he could shake out the images of blood and pain that have been brought to the surface.  “Just leave it off.”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” she agrees.  Damon turns to walk back to where he was wiping down the counter when she adds, “I can’t stand country music.”

“What?” he asks, turning.

“Like--like the really old country stuff.  The twangy guitars and banjos and fiddles and shit, I can’t stand it, not anymore, not after--after this one Alpha,” she confides.  “He played it all the time, when he--” she stops the sentence and shudders where she stands, hand fingers gripping tight to the cabinet beside her.  “He did some pretty awful shit,” she finally finishes.  “Hearing that music makes me think of being back there; it kinda makes me want to puke.”

Damon feels more like crying than vomiting, but he supposes the general sentiments are the same.  He nods.  

“Oh, I see.”

“You know if--if you ever wanted to--to talk about any of it,” she says.  “You can tell me things.  I won’t share any of it if you don’t want me to, but we--we could talk, ya know? And--and if it helps I can tell you stories about how much better Derek handles the same kind of stuff.”  

When Damon doesn’t reply, she goes on, “Like--like if the food gets cold before Derek gets home,” she says, and Damon clenches his teeth to stop the urge to convince her he’d never let that happen.  “He just puts it in the microwave,” Cora says.  “I’ve seen him do it plenty of times.  You know, when he’s late for one reason or another.  He’ll call and tell us not to wait on him to eat.  He doesn’t mind.  Not one bit.   He’s never punished anybody for that.  Our Mom didn’t either when she was Alpha.”

            “He shouldn’t have to do that.  It should--should be ready no matter what time he wants it,” Damon reminds.  “If we did it for our other Alphas, and Derek’s so much better than they were, then we should give him no less.”

            “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Cora replies, “I’m just saying that--that Derek doesn’t care about the same things as our old Alphas did.  His priorities are different. Like, say maybe he was going to be home late, and so we decided to work on something else, like how we planned breakfast or something.  If we did that _instead_ of keeping the food warm, he’d be glad.”

            “Because he wants us to be like a family, and that means working together on things,” Damon says, following Cora’s logic.  “And so we could put that first, and then we could reheat or remake the food later if he wanted.”

            “Yeah, that’s the idea,” she replies.  “The pack dynamics can always take precedence over getting the daily tasks perfect, at least as far as Derek’s concerned.”

            Damon nods, but he isn’t quite sure what to say in the wake of the insight she’s offered.  Instead he simply returns to the task at hand, scrubbing the white tile of the countertop with the blue checked dish cloth.   After another moment or two he finds words.

            “Thank you,” he says without turning to face her. “For explaining things.”

“I’m glad to, Damon,” she replies earnestly.

The voices in his head scream that she’s sure to betray him to further her own favor with the Alpha, but Damon does his best to ignore them.  He’s seen firsthand a few times now that Derek’s idea of betas working together rather than competing really can be effective.  Maybe there’s more than one way to train good betas.  Maybe a pack of betas who act like friends isn’t such an impossible thing to imagine after all.

            The repetitive motion of cleaning the counter isn’t terribly engaging. Damon finds himself losing focus, eye drooping shut one long blink after the next.

            “You want to try and take a nap?” Cora wonders.  “I can start the laundry on my own and you can join in whenever you wake up,” she offers.

            “I’m fine.”

            “Damon, you’re falling asleep on your feet.”

            “I said I was _fine,_ Cora,” he repeats more sternly, and she nods and turns back to her task of putting away the dishes.  “I’ll start the laundry myself.  You finish up in here.  Just sweep up for now; we might mop later.”

            “Yes, Damon.”

            He trods upstairs to the bedrooms to start gathering laundry from the hampers.  His feet feel heavier with every step, and he’s well aware that Cora was right to suggest he sleep.

            _I don’t want to, but I don’t want to make mistakes because I’m too tired to focus._

He sort the laundry into piles and starts a the first load.  There’s a simple wooden chair in the corner of the laundry room; it’s an extra for the dining room table they keep beside the table to fold clothes on.  It’s not comfortable, but it should serve Damon’s purpose well.  He crosses over to take a seat.  

            _Just a few moments.  I won’t be comfortable enough to sleep deeply.  I won’t sleep long enough to dream.  It will be fine.  I’ll complete my tasks more efficiently.  I should sleep; just for a few minutes.  It will be fine,_ he reasons with himself.

He closes his eyes as he relaxes into the chair as much as the hard, wooden surface allows.

_“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”_

_The chair jolts out from under him as the Isaac kicks it away, looming over Damon where he lays on the floor, trembling.  He’s seen a version of this before, in Stiles’ memories, but it was some other beta then, not Isaac. Isaac wouldn’t do this.  He wouldn’t._

_“You don’t stop until you’re dismissed!” Isaac thunders, quoting the words from the memory. “Derek will be back any moment, and your worthless, lazy ass is sleeping?”_

_“Only for a few minutes,” Damon replies.  “While the first load was washing.  I thought it would be okay--so--so that I could be more alert and awake when Derek does get home,” he tries to explain._

_“You want to be awake?” Isaac taunts.  “I can think of a few ways to keep you awake!”_

_“No, Isaac! No!” Damon pleads, cowering from what he knows from the memories is sure to come next.  “Don’t, Isaac, not you, please!”_

_“Shut up!” he orders as he jerks Damon roughly, flipping him onto his stomach, pressing his face against the cold tile of the laundry room floor.  “Hold still,” he commands, yanking at the waistband of Damon’s jeans to pull them down._

_“No! It’s different! This pack is different!” Damon sobs._

_“I told you to shut up!” Isaac retorts, claws sinking into Damon’s shoulder to hold him down.  “Be quiet! Be good!”_

_“Please don’t!”_

“Damon, it’s okay!” Cora’s voice cuts in.  “It’s okay; it’s me; I got you; you’re safe,” she assures.

Damon breaks away from her tight embrace, desperate to be rid of the trapped feeling that threatens to consume him.

“Don’t!” he whines as he retreats toward the far corner, backing into it and sinking down to the floor, drawing his knees up close and all but curling into a ball.  

“Damon, it’s okay,” she says, starting toward him.

“Don’t touch me!” he barks, and she stops in her tracks.

“Okay,” she agrees, taking a few steps back.  “I’ll just--uh--give you some space?” she supposes, turning to leave.

“Wait!” Damon blurts pathetically before he can stop himself.  “You--you could stay, just--just please don’t touch me,” he adds, forcing the words out as calmly as he can, struggling to breath a bit more normally.  

_Stay, Cora. Stay.  I don’t want to be by myself; I don’t want to fall asleep.  I want Derek, but you’re good too.  Tell me it’s different here.  That it was all just a horrible, horrible dream._

“Okay,” she agrees.  “I get that.”

The silence grows between them as she stands awkwardly in the middle of the room.  Damon buries his face in his hands, struggling to keep the tears from spilling over in front of her.  Maybe they’re starting to be friends, but he still can’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t risk being _completely_ vulnerable in front of her.  She takes a few steps forward, and he manages not to shrink back.  

“When--when I used to--to have nightmares that scared me like that,” she says quietly.  “My friend Ty, he--he’d hold my hand, and that--that helped a little bit.  D’you--you wanna try that?” she wonders.

Damon lifts his head to look at her.  She’s got one arm extended out within reach of him, but she’s still staying back far enough to respect his space.  He hesitates.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” she assures, “but for me it was just--ya know--just enough contact to kinda help calm me down but not--not make me feel like I was back in the nightmare.”

He nods, but it’s still a few moments more before he reaches a hand up to take hers.  She grasps back lightly, just enough pressure to show reciprocation, but a grip he could easily break.  

“You--you should sit,” he says.  “I won’t be long just--just another moment or two.”

She sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall beside him but keeping three or four feet away. He has to admit the contact does help, a reminder that he’s not completely on his own to face Stiles’ demons.

“Take your time,” she replies.  “The kitchen is cleaned up and the laundry is started.  It’s plenty for now.  Besides, this is--this is good pack bonding.  Derek would like it,” she adds.  “I’ve--I’ve never mentioned Ty to anyone before.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t really like to talk about everything that happened before I came back home to find the pack Derek rebuilt.”

“Oh.”

“But you--you remind me of Ty a little bit,” she confides.  “I think you two would’ve made good friends.”

He manages a smile at the words, unsure how else to respond.

“You want to tell me about the nightmare?  I can tell you how it’s different here,” she offers.

“It was just one of Stiles’ memories,” Damon replies. “A punishment he got for falling asleep before he was supposed to.  Except I was dreaming it was happening here, and--and instead of the beta in the other pack with Stiles it was--it was Isaac punishing me, but--but I know that’s not how it works.  I shouldn’t let it bother me. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Knowing it’s different here doesn’t make the nightmare feel any less real,” she points out.  “Take your time,” she tells him again. “Anything else I can do to help?”

“What does Derek do if--if he comes home and people are--are sleeping?” Damon asks, hoping for a reprise of this morning’s conversation about Derek’s reaction to cold meals.  

Cora smiles.  “Well, he definitely never gets angry,” she says, “and this one time, as a joke, he put whipped cream all over my face, like it was a  beard, ya know? And took a picture of me.”

Damon huffs a laugh at the absurdity of the thought.  “That doesn’t make any sense, to waste it like that. Well, he’s the Alpha; he can do whatever he likes. Of course.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t about pack dynamics or any of that; it was to make us all laugh,” Cora expounds.   “I’d had a bad night the night before--Derek didn’t know it, but that’s why I was sleeping so hard.  I come over here sometimes when the quiet at my apartment starts driving me crazy--anyway, the prank made everybody laugh, even me once I woke up.  I’ve got the picture on my fridge,” Damon’s confusion must still show on his face because she continues, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that, he doesn’t look for opportunities to be pissed at us and make us afraid of him; he looks for ways to get everybody smiling and laughing and happy.  That’s what he cares about, ya know? He doesn’t care so much if he comes home to productive betas; he cares more about coming home to happy ones.”

“Oh, that’s--that’s,” Damon replies, understanding the point of her odd story a bit better.  

“Pretty fucking awesome?” she finishes for him.

He nods his agreement.  “Impossibly awesome.”

_Because there’s no way I could earn a place in a pack this good.   No way I could be worthy of this Alpha.  All I can do is try to figure it out._

_At least I’ve got Cora to tell stories and explain things.  It helps me, and it also seems to make Derek happy.  It’s another thing that’s unfathomably wonderful about life here compared to all those horrible things from Stiles’ memories._

 

***************************************************

 

            Derek arrives home to find Cora and Damon in the laundry room folding clothes.  They both smile at his entrance, and Damon doesn’t shy back for perhaps the first time since he got the barrage of Stiles’ memories.  

            “Hey, Derek,” Cora greets.  “Get all the errands done?”

            “Yeah,” he replies.  “You two want to come help me bring in the groceries? I got all kinds of stuff in case you decide to go through the recipe books again.  No pressure or anything, just--wanted to make sure the kitchen was stocked and all.”

            “Thank you, Derek!” they reply together.

            As unsettling as it is to see his sister so easily fill the same subservient type of role Damon plays, it’s equally great to see that Damon seems to be making his first real friend.  There’s no way to thank Cora for how exhausting it must be to drudge up behavior she no doubt learned by being mistreated by packs.  Derek would give anything to hunt down the monsters who tried to break his baby sister, but she’s never given enough detail to anyone for such a vendetta to be possible, even if there weren’t plenty of other issues to be handled at home.

            “Did you buy the whole store, Derek?” Cora wonders when they walk out to the car to see the trunk filled to the brim with grocery bags.  

            “I wanted to make sure we had plenty of options for you two to choose from.  You guys did such an excellent job with breakfast; you should be able to have fun planning like that anytime you want,” he replies.

            Damon preens just a bit at the praise, glancing over at Cora to smile.  

            “We could look through recipes for dinner, Derek,” he offers.  

            “If you wouldn’t mind, that would be great.”

            “But maybe first,” Cora says as they start back toward the house with their arms filled with groceries, “could I use some of the medicine so I can sleep a little?” she wonders.  “Would you mind, Derek?”

            “No, that’s fine,” Derek replies, trusting whatever’s motivated her to ask for the sedative for the first time.

            “I just--I’ve been having bad dreams, but I want to rest so I’ll be better when we start planning dinner.”

            “You don’t have to worry about dinner.  I bought plenty of stuff for easy things, too. We can all fix dinner for ourselves if you’d like to sleep longer; that’s fine.”

            “A nap is enough,” she replies.  “Thank you, Derek.”

            Derek helps them put away groceries, moving slowly so as to get as few flinches from Damon as possible.  He notices Damon open his mouth as if to speak a couple of times, but it seems Damon can’t quite voice whatever’s on his mind.   He also can’t help but notice that Damon’s eyes droop and his movements are a bit sluggish.  

            _I bet Cora isn’t the one who really needs the sleep._

            “Damon, you’re welcome to have a nap, too,” Derek offers, “with or without the medicine.”

            “Thank you, Derek,” he replies, “but if--if Cora’s going to be sleeping then I can stay up and work on chores or if you need anything else.”

            “I appreciate that, but I’m actually going to leave soon to go pick up Isaac anyway.  You two have the kitchen all cleaned up and the laundry running.  It’s the perfect time to get a bit of rest if you want.”

            He bites his lips uncertainly before finally nodding, “Yes, Derek, thank you; I--I think I might need the medicine, too.”

 

******************************************************************

 

            In the hour and a half break between his classes, Isaac decides to walk the four blocks from campus over to Holly’s office.  He’s half hoping she’ll be busy and half hoping she’s got time to fit him in.  The receptionist downstairs who greets clients for all four of the therapists in the building recognizes Isaac.

            “Is she expecting you, Mr. Hale?” she wonders; he never gets tired of hearing that last name, but it’s still odd that this middle-aged woman calls him “mister.”

            “Isaac’s fine,” he reminds her.  “But--uh--no she’s not.”

            “I’ll call up,” she offers.

            Isaac can hear Holly on the other end of the line, but he still waits for the receptionist to tell him it’s fine to go on upstairs.  The door’s open when he walks in, but he shuts it behind him.

            “You’re not too busy for this are you?” Isaac wonders.

            “I have an hour or so before my next appointment,” she replies, “think we’ll need longer than that?”

            “No, no, just--just wanted to kind of--work through some things about Damon.  Get your opinion maybe.”

            “Sure; take a seat.  Tell me how things are going since the influx of memories into the Damon persona.”

            She was infuriatingly calm the other night when Isaac called in a panic to tell her what was happening.  Logically, he knew she was right to say “there’s nothing to do but allow it to run its course.”  Emotionally, he wanted to punch her in the face.  Still, she’s an invaluable source of information, and, at the end of the day, she cares enough to help them try and shovel through the insanity.

            “I was actually wondering,” Isaac starts, “if--uh--did Stiles say anything when he met with you about _trying_ to do something like that?”

            “You know I won’t comment on that, Isaac.”

            “Right, complete confidentiality, I know, but--well--how about hypothetically then?   _If_ Stiles consciously attempts to channel the worst of his memories into the Damon personality, could he do it? Does he really have that much power over what happens with the switching?”

“It’s hard to say how much control Stiles might have over the personalities his mind creates.  It’s hard to be definite about anything that’s going on with him.”

“I know; I just--I thought maybe if he _does_ have some level of control then _maybe_ the whole situation could be a little--I don’t know--easier?”

“Easier how?”

“You know, on Stiles.  If he can control it, then maybe we could work on helping him control that, but if it’s random on unconsciously controlled, then he’s just powerless…”

“Which makes you feel powerless too,” she supposes.

He knows the look on her face; she’s talking to him about Stiles, but she’s really analyzing Isaac.

“Yeah, I guess,” he replies with a shrug.  “But we can help with some of it.  Cora is really fantastic with him;  she _gets_ Damon.  Not perfectly, but a lot better than any of the rest of us.”

“She pulls from her own experiences?”

“As far as we can tell, yeah,” Isaac replies.  “She’s not exactly an open book about what happened all that time she was gone.  I kind of hope it’s good for her too, ya know? To talk to somebody about it? And Stiles will know whatever she says to Damon, so if there’s something major we should know about, we would.”

“So you think Cora will remain a big part of the way you handle the Damon personality?”

“It makes sense.   He can’t connect with Derek really, not as anything other than his alpha.  He’s still a little scared of me I think.”

            “And how does that make you feel? Having the residual fear from this personality?”

            Isaac rolls his eyes.  “I didn’t come here for a session for _me_ ,” he reminds.  “I came to talk about Damon.”

            “And dealing with Damon affects you,” she answers.  “It’s not an easy job.”

            He shrugs.  “He’s my husband, no matter what state he’s in,” Isaac says simply.  “I just want to help him.  Doesn’t matter how I feel about it.”

            “It matters a _lot,”_ she contradicts.  

            “He’s fine with Cora.”

            “And that’s okay with you?”

            “Why wouldn’t it be?”

            “Just a question,” she replies.  “You’re used to being his main source of support when Derek can’t be.  It must be frustrating that you can’t fill that role on your own anymore.”

            “He needs help; Cora could use a friend to talk to about it too.  I don’t resent being a little more on the fringe than I used to be.  Besides, he’ll--he’ll get used to me again.  I’m more careful around him now with the sudden movements and what I say.  It’s all fine.”

            She doesn’t have an immediate follow up for him so they sit in silence and Holly studies him from across the desk.  Isaac fidgets under her gaze, both grateful and resentful from the conclusions she’s probably drawing about him.  He starts biting at his fingernails, wondering what to say next, when she breaks the silence for him.

            “How’s school going?” she wonders.  “Still glad you officially chose the psychology major?”

            “Most of the time,” he replies honestly.

            “Most?” she repeats, eyebrow raised to accent the question.

            “It’s just--pretty much everyone else is looking at it objectively.”

            “And you can’t quite maintain that degree of separation?”

            “No,” he says, “Not even close.  I read my textbooks and all I can do is wonder how much of it applies to Stiles--hell, to all of us really.  I think how long it took me to realize he had symptoms of DID and wonder what else I might be missing.  I look at all these case studies that are “breakthroughs” but they’re really just the tip of the iceberg--and they’re not even able to take into account all the supernatural shit that Stiles has working against him.  I realize how slowly psychological understanding moves--and that--that--there’s hardly ever a real answer.  But these kids in my classes, most of them anyway, that’s the most interesting part of psychology for them, the fact that there are so many unanswered questions.  It’s a puzzle for them; something to engage and entertain.  Not a fucking nightmare of a reality that they have to go home to every day,” he finishes, spitting the last words with more bitterness than he intends.

            She purses her lips and gazes on him with eyes full of understanding and pity.

            “That can’t be easy,” she replies.  

            “Look, I didn’t come for you sympathy, okay?” Isaac reminds, feeling vulnerable in the wake of his vented frustrations.  “I just wanted to--to see if you think letting Damon be friends with Cora is a good thing or--or if there’s something else we should be doing.  Should we be bringing him to you?”

            “I doubt Damon could trust anyone outside his pack enough to be candid,” Holly points out.  “If Cora is willing to befriend the personality and they can talk about issues that arise, it could do both of them some real good.”

            “Right,” Isaac agrees.  “That’s what I figured, I just--thought I’d ask.”  He glances down at his watch, and though he’s got ample time before his next class he says, “I should probably get going.”

            “All right.”

            “Thanks again for taking time to see me,” he says as he rises and turns toward the door.

            “Isaac, I know you didn’t come here for sympathy,” she says, and he pauses in his exit, turning back to face her as she continues, “but everyone needs someplace to step back from the stress and clear their mind a little bit.  The offer to meet every week still stands.”

            “Thanks, but I’m fine,” he repeats with a forced smile.  “And tomorrow’ll be better,” he adds.

            _I don’t have the time or the energy to do this once a week,_ he thinks as he trods down the stairs; he catches the reflection of himself in the glass door as he exits the building, noting the weary circles under his eyes that even werewolf abilities can’t _quite_ heal. _But maybe every couple of weeks wouldn’t hurt..._

           

*******************************************************

           

Stiles wakes on the navy blue bedspread in Damon’s room.  The surreal experience of sifting through Damon’s perspective of the past few days disorients him for a moment or two, until all the facts seem to fall into place in his mind.  He sits up grimacing at the disgusting puddle of drool on the bed, but at least it means the sedative is still effective as ever.  Thank God.  He knows Cora’s probably still asleep in her room.  While she may not have been quite as exhausted as Damon, she didn’t get much sleep the past couple of days either, so he tries to be quiet as he goes down to the kitchen.  

According to the clock, Isaac’s been out of school for an hour or so.  Stiles imagines he and Derek are killing a bit of time before coming home, to give Damon more time with Cora.  He thinks of texting him the news that he’s back, but then another plan crosses his mind.  All the horrible things that downloaded to Damon are still objectively in Stiles’ mind, but it’s a kind of secondhand knowledge.  He can’t help wonder how that might change things.   

He grabs the blue box of macaroni and cheese from the pantry, despite the voice in the back of his head that chants _wasteful, wasteful, wasteful._

 _I’ll put it in the fridge. It’ll get eaten eventually,_ he reasons.  

Cora comes downstairs about five minutes after he’s done preparing the simple dish.  

“Damon?” she says as she walks into the kitchen. “Did you--”

“Stiles,” he corrects. “Thanks for helping out the past couple days.”

“No problem,” she replies flippantly.

Stiles can’t help but marvel at how instantly and completely her demeanor changes now that she’s no longer with Damon.  Her chin rises, head held higher.  Her shoulders come back and she straightens her posture from the more docile slouch she had when she entered the room.  The familiar look on her face--a general annoyance with the world--settles in as she takes a seat on the barstool next to Stiles.

She regards the pot of macaroni and cheese sitting on the stove and the two bowls of macaroni on the counter beside it for a moment or two before she wonders, “So all those awesome leftovers in the fridge, and you go for cheap mac and cheese?”

“Just wanted to check something,” he replies.

“What?” she wonders, studying his face a minute before looking back to the two bowls beside the stove.  “For Derek and Isaac?” she supposes.

“Yep.”

“You’re letting their food get cold,” she realizes.  “On purpose.  Just sitting here and watching to see if you can let it happen now that Damon’s got the memories of the punishments.”

“Yeah.”

“You son of a bitch,” she replies, voice low and deadly and  filled with a kind of detached coldness he never wanted to hear from anyone ever again.

“Wh--” he tries to respond before his question is cut off when Cora’s fist connects solidly with his left jawbone.  

The force launches him off the stool, and he flails as he crashes to the floor.  He growls as he looks up at her, and the voices in his head scream, _Never raise a hand to a higher beta.  Bad betas must be punished! Teach her! Make her better!_

“You dumped all that bullshit on Damon to give yourself an easier time!” she rages, distracting from the conditioning threatening to take hold in Stiles’ mind.

“What the _fuck_ , Cora?!” Stiles protests, rubbing at his aching jaw as he gets to his feet.  “It’s _my_ screwed up brain; what the hell do you care? Damon’s not even a real person.”

“Fuck you, the last three days he sure seemed real enough!” she retorts, storming past Stiles as she picks up her jacket, turning on him when she grabs her keys.  “You don’t get to fucking _make_ him because you can’t handle your shit and then--then not care what--just--fuck you!” she repeats finally, seemingly unable to adequately express her utter disgust with Stiles’ involuntary personality split situation.  

_Upsetting your packmate, the alpha’s little sister, after she took care of your worthless, broken counterpart for days.  He’s going to be so angry with you when you get home…._

Stiles shakes off the thought.   He balls his hands into fists to hide the trembling.  He can’t quite figure out if he’s fighting the urge to beg Cora not to tell Derek or fighting the urge to punch her back as his conditioning reminds him that he’s the one in charge here.  She should mind her manners to a higher beta. “Cora, wait a second.  I didn’t--look it’s--this is kind of the silver lining, right? Like if my brain’s fucked up I might as well be able to get all the bad stuff squared away into one personality so the other one can be halfway normal and--”

“Did you dump all those memories into him on _purpose_?

“Not--not exactly.  It’s just--me and Holly talked about reasons my brain would even make up Damon, and--”

“He’s not made up!” Cora shouts as she heads for the door.

Overwhelming panic washes over Stiles as Cora turns away from him that he can’t completely identify with.    _Well, I guess I didn’t “dump” everything,_ he thinks bitterly before gathering himself to go after her as she forcefully swings open the front door, her stiff arm only just saving it from snapping off its hinges.

“Maybe “made up” isn’t the best way to phrase it, but he’s not his own person either! He’s me!” Stiles argues.

“It’s not--not that simple,” she persists at the doorstep.  “You can’t just--just do whatever the hell you want with him and make him miserable and scared and--it’s not _fair._ He doesn’t deserve that!”

“And I do?”

“I didn’t say that,” she counters, anger ebbing just slightly at the implication of the words. “I just mean---”

“Is this really about Damon?” Stiles wonders.  “Or is it about Ty?”

At the mention of the name Cora’s whole face hardens, eyes darkening with a level of fury that sends ice running through Stiles veins.  She smacks him across the face, and  her fangs descend as she answers, “Don’t you _ever_ say that name to me!”

This time Stiles reacts before he can rein the conditioning in, retaliating with a smack of his own, claws out, leaving four thin scratches across Cora’s face.

“Mind your place!” he thunders in a commanding tone he wishes he didn’t recognize so well.  “Strike me again and you’ll _lose_ _that hand!_ ”

“Mention Ty again and I’ll rip your fucking throat out!” she growls back, unflinching as she shoves Stiles back from her.

_Teach her a lesson! Show her where she belongs! You can’t allow this kind of disrespect!_

Stiles starts toward her, but Cora’s more than ready to meet him, dodging the first strike to land a jab of her own into Stiles gut.  The pain only spurs on the blinding fury that threatens to take over completely.  Even as he lands blows and slashes to Cora that she returns in suit, Stiles wills himself to stop reacting to the impulses.  

As his conditioning screams, _Punish her!_ his own conscience reminds desperately _It’s Cora.  It’s different here. This is Cora. Stop, stop,_ he urges himself.   _It’s different here; it’s different here._

“Yeah, Stiles, it’s different here,” Cora agrees, her winded voice breaking through the mental haze of rage.  “You’re right. It’s different.”

She only blocking his strikes now, not really fighting back, slowing the pace.  It takes a few moments more before he manages to shove her away from him and retreat back to the other side of the entryway.  She stands across the room, catching her breath and using a hand to cover the deepest wound on her shoulder, slowing the drip of blood to the floor.  Stiles feels sick at the sight of her, and almost moves to go draw some of her pain, but he doesn’t quite trust his control enough to get that close.

“Don’t apologize,” she says firmly. “I don’t need your fucking apology.  We both lost it.”

“I didn’t mean for it to get that--that out of hand, I--”

“Stiles,” she interjects.  “If _anybody_ in this pack really understands how fucked up your reactions can be, it’s me.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“Maybe not, but it’s also not your fault.”

Stiles struggles to find words to break the silence that grows between them.  It seems Cora doesn’t care to talk about it though.  She turns to head back toward the kitchen.

“Come on; we should get it all cleaned up before Isaac and Derek get home,” she suggests.  

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, following her lead.  

They work in silence, wiping the dried blood from their skin, changing into fresh clothes, and going back to the foyer to clean up the small spatters of blood on the floor and walls.  They’re nearly done when Stiles finally decides to speak.

“Cora, I can see why you’re pissed,” he says quietly.  “But it’s not as simple as you want it to be; you’re making it sound like--like he’s some innocent person that I dragged into this, but it’s--he’s--Damon is _me_.”

“Yeah well, it’s not as simple as you want it to be either,” she mutters.  “And I fucking _meant_ what I said about Ty,” she goes on.   “I told _Damon_ all that stuff to help _him._ I didn’t tell _you_ to help you be a fucking coward and dump all your shit on a personality who can’t control what you--”

“I can’t control it either!” Stiles protests, stepping back from her as he feels the trembling start again.

“Well, at least you can understand it. You’re in a helluva lot better position to handle it than Damon is, so talk to Holly and figure out how to keep from sending a tidal wave of memories of hell into him every time you switch.”

“Cora, that’s not--”

“I’ll be out in the car,” she interrupts,  tossing the rag in her hand to Stiles and grabbing her jacket and key from where she discarded them by the door.  “So someone’s around in case anything happens.”

“Cora, wait,” Stiles protests as she opens the door.  

“I’m done, Stiles. I didn’t come to help you,” Cora says simply.  “I don’t want to do this with you--it’s just--for Damon I can--can do what needs to be done but--you’ve got Derek and Isaac.  You don’t need me, and I don’t want to be needed. Once they get home, I’m gone.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Fine,” she agrees, shutting the door hard behind her as she leaves.  

Stiles watches out the window as she gets into her car and then turns to go back into the kitchen.  It’s moments like this when he kind of hates his werewolf metabolism.  He could use a fucking drink.  Instead he splashes some cold water on his face and grabs himself a can of coke.  As he turns to go back into the den, his eyes skim over the two bowls of macaroni sitting out the countertop.  No doubt they’re cold by now, one big glob of pasta and processes cheese, nothing fit for an Alpha to come home to.

And Stiles honestly doesn’t give a shit.

He smiles as he cracks open the coke to take a sip.  Maybe Cora’s right; there’s probably something really fucked up about dumping things into the Damon personality to make things easier on Stiles himself.  But right now he really doesn’t care, so he leaves the bowls on the counter and heads to the den to see if there’s a ballgame on.

 

**************************************

 

            “What?” Cora asks tersely when Derek buzzes at her apartment door.

            “It’s me.”

            “Not really in the mood to hang out, dude; it’s been a long couple days.”

            “I brought pizza,” he replies.

            “You know I can get that delivered.”

            “And German Chocolate cake from the bakery you like down on the--”

            Before he can finish the sentence, the door buzzes to invite him in.  He smiles as he reaches for the handle.  

            “If you’re lying about the cake I will _end_ you,” Cora threatens over the intercom as Derek disappears inside.

            She must be listening for him because she opens the door before he has a chance to knock.  She looks exhausted--but not as though she needs sleep--more like the kind of exhausted that gets down into your soul and makes it difficult to do more than just sit and exist.

            “What did he tell you?” she wonders as she takes the cake box stacked on top of the pizza and turns to walk back down the hall toward the kitchen.  

            “Given the fact that you were waiting in the car and drove off the second Isaac and I got home, Stiles didn’t really need to point out that things didn’t go so great when he switched back,” Derek answers as he follows her into the apartment.

            “Yeah, but what did he tell you?” she repeats.  

            “Not much.”

            “Good, because it’s not his shit to share,” she says, grabbing two forks from the drying rack by the sink and taking the whole cake box back into the den with them.  “Grab the milk, would you?”

            “Yeah, sure,” Derek obliges, leaving the pizza on the counter and swiping two glasses from the cupboard and the half gallon of milk in the fridge.

            He takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Cora.  She places the cake box between them, opening it and offering Derek a fork.

            “You should feel loved,” she informs.  “I don’t share chocolate cake with just anyone.”

            “I’m the one who _bought_ the cake.”

            “So? Point still stands.”

He can’t help smiling at that, huffing out a little laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she wonders.

“You just--uh--nothing,” he replies, smile falling from his face.

_You just remind me so much of Laura sometimes.  I’m not sure if you two would have been inseparable or driven each other crazy._

“You came here to make me talk about my feelings and hug it out and all that shit but you can’t answer one question?”

“I didn’t say that was why I was here.”

“Didn’t have to say it; we both know it’s true,” she says.  “And even though it’s totally annoying, it’s nice of you,” she admits.  

“You’re my little sister,” Derek replies by way of explanation.  “I wanted to do _something_.”

“The cake was a good choice,” she says as she shoves a big bite in her mouth.  “I swear to God they put crack in this batter.”

He grins as he takes a bite too.  It’s definitely the best bakery in town, no denying it.  Personally he prefers the red velvet though.  

“So, what did he tell you that got you worried?” she prods again.

“Well, I was worried anyway,” he replies, “from the whole thing about you not wanting anyone else to overhear you talking about stories from before.  Stiles didn’t say much about any of it, just that you made it perfectly clear that it wasn’t his history to share.”

“Exactly.”

“And that--that you talked about an old friend,” Derek goes on.  “Who apparently meant a lot. But you’ve never mentioned him to any of the rest of us.”

Cora nods.  “Damon reminds me of him.”

“Who was he?” Derek wonders.

“He--uh--he was a friend when I was stuck at a--uh--not so great pack for a while,” she answers, revealing little and yet more than Derek expected.  “After a while I worked up the courage to leave, but Ty didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugs.  “Shit happens.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“I never look back darling,” she replies dramatically.  “It distracts from the now,” she finishes with a smile.

“Still your favorite movie?” Derek teases.

She watched _The Incredibles_ incessantly from the moment it came out on DVD.  She could quote every line, much to the family’s dismay.  Derek hasn’t seen the movie since, but he likes the idea that some things about Cora haven’t changed.

“Hell yeah,” she replies; she glances over to the TV and then rises from her seat.  “I’m gonna put it in,” she replies.  “You--uh--you don’t have to stay, you know.  I’m okay on my own.”

“I know,” he replies, “but I’m overdue to hear you quote this movie from beginning to end.”

“I did grow out of that part at least.”

Once the DVD is in the player, she rejoins him on the couch.  She takes another bite of cake and studies him for a moment or two as she chews.

“What?”

“Do me a favor?” she wonders.

“Yeah, sure.”

She reaches one hand out between them, like she wants Derek to take it.  He obliges and she smiles as she goes back to the cake.  

“Thanks.”

“That’s it? ” he wonders; it doesn’t seem like much of a favor.

“Yep,” she replies, offering no further explanation other than a smile that seems a bit sad.  

So Derek stays and holds her hand.  Cora eats her fill of the cake, and then drifts to sleep in the last half hour of the movie. Even when she’s so soundly asleep that she’s snoring lightly, her grip on his hand doesn’t waver.  

_Even if she can manage on her own, it doesn’t mean she should have to.  She’s not on her own anymore.  She’s home; she’s got family.  I let her down once, but not again._

He texts Isaac and Stiles to say he might be late getting home;  Derek doesn’t plan on being the first to let go.  

  


 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry for the time between update! Thanks for bearing with me!

*********************************************************

 

            After coming home to find Cora in the car, clearly fuming from some argument with Stiles once his dominant personality returned, Isaac isn’t surprised that Derek leaves before dinner to go check on his sister.  Stiles and Isaac put a frozen lasagna in the oven to keep things simple.  Isaac’s as eager as ever to start asking questions and gauge Stiles’ mental state, but he holds out until Stiles breaches the quiet first.

            “What would you say if I told you that I didn’t want to talk to Holly anymore?” he wonders as he slices the cucumber for the salad.  

            “Well,” Isaac replies, tossing in the handful of cherry tomatoes he just took from the fridge. “That’s your choice to make, I guess, but I think it’s good for you to talk all this out with someone.”

            “But maybe I don’t need her as much as we thought.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because--well, she’s supposed to help me cope, right? But now I’ve got Damon.”

            “Isn’t that a reason to _keep_ talking to her?”

            “Maybe I don’t want to.  Maybe I--I like my own solutions.”

            “Meaning what?”

            “Meaning that having Damon makes me feel better than I’ve felt on my own in a really long time,” Stiles replies.  “He puts a distance on all those memories and conditioning.  I think--I think I could be normal--well, not _entirely_ normal, but like--when it’s me. I think we could get to the point that I can be myself again.”

            “And all the pain into Damon? You think that’s a good idea? Think it’s fair?”

            “Don’t lecture me about what’s fair,” Stiles growls. “Cora did plenty of that.”

            “That why she was out in the car?”

            “She sees Damon as--she sees someone who needs her protection.  She wasn’t a fan of me being happy that I made some progress for myself now that memories are transferring to him.”

            “Progress like what?”

            “It sounds dumb,” Stiles replies, “but I let some food get cold,” he explains.  “Breaking a rule like that--before Damon took the worst of that training--I could never have calmly let it happen, but now I can.  It would have taken me _months_ to get that kind of power over the conditioning otherwise.”

            “It’s not the healthy way to handle all of it Stiles.  You’re making a timebomb with Damon that you’d have to face eventually.”

            “Maybe.  Or maybe it’s the best outcome I can really expect to get.”

“Don’t say that.”  

“Isaac, do you have _any_ idea what I would give to be normal? To go back to before they ripped me apart and made a fucking frankenstein beta out of my mind?”

“Stiles--”

“And Damon’s not here _that_ often.  Only a few times now, and spaced out.  The tradeoff of having him if I get to be normal the rest of the time.  Can’t you see why that seems like a _really_ good option to me? It seems like more than I kind of eve thought I could get.”

“I’m just not sure it’s a long-term solution.  You have to look at the bigger picture.”

“I can’t, Isaac; I can barely stand to look past tomorrow.  You get that, don’t you? Feeling so exhausted you can’t stand it--like everything’s just piling up higher and higher and you’re never going to be able to dig your way out.”

“Yeah, I can understand that feeling.”

“Even if it’s not a long-term solution, it can get me through for now--until, until I can handle all of it.”

“I’m just not so sure that it’s the right call.  Did you talk to her about it?”

“Not yet. But I know what she’s going to say. We both do,” Stiles answers.  “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight.  We should talk about it with Derek too.  I just--thought I’d tell you what I’ve been thinking.”

 

************************************************

 

            It’s no coincidence that Stiles makes blueberry pancakes for breakfast before starting round two of the “no more therapy” proposition.  Derek’s in a pretty good mood, but Isaac’s frowning into his coffee, clearly still annoyed with the world--with _Stiles_.  The thought puts him on edge, wondering if his alpha-- _Derek_ \--will agree with Isaac.

            “Did I miss something?” Derek asks a few bites into breakfast, no doubt noticing Isaac’s silence and Stiles’ forced conversation.

            “Stiles wants to quit seeing Holly,” Isaac provides.   “We don’t exactly see eye-to-eye on the topic.”

            “I just think that there’s been some really good signs with me moving forward now that Damon’s around.  I think maybe he’s all I need to handle things.  I don’t need time with Holly. With Damon, I can do fine on my own?”

            “You want to quit therapy? Because the fact that you have a new personality means you’re doing okay on your own?” he repeats, eyebrow raised so high it practically disappears into his hairline.

            “Well, when you phrase it like _that_ of course it sounds nuts,” Stiles replies with a sigh, bringing a hand up to rub nervously at the back of his neck. He stares down at the table a few more moments before he can will his gaze back up to Derek’s.  “But--it’s--it’s not such a bad idea, really, is it?” Stiles argues, pleading with his eyes for Derek to try and understand.  “In the grand scheme and all,” he adds, as the conditioning urges him to counter himself, to provide both options so his alpha can choose.  

            _No, no this is my choice.  I want them to understand.  I want them to agree, but this is still my choice._

_But if the Alpha would rather…_

_No. No! It’s my choice._

            “I guess I just don’t get why you want to quit?” Derek says, voice interrupting the mental argument in Stiles' head, and his heart sinks that the words aren’t an acquiescence.  “Why not talk Holly in addition to whatever you mind does on it’s own with Damon? And maybe she can--ya know--guide you through it?”

            “Exactly what I said,” Isaac puts in from across the table.

“But Derek, she wants to get _rid_ of Damon,” Stiles reminds.

            _She wants to take away the only outlet I’ve got to get rid of these memories.  We’re all too worried about what happens if you try to block them; this is the only way to shut them out and distance myself.  How am I supposed to just give that up? I can’t. I don’t want to.  Please, please, don’t ask me to._

            “And you don’t want to get rid of Damon?” Derek wonders.

            “Not--exactly,” Stiles replies, eyes falling back down to his plate in the face of Derek’s clear assumption that the best course is for Stiles to try and merge the personalities back together.

_If he wants Damon gone, I should try. I should do what Derek wants.  The cues are clear; he’s kind enough not to order me; but I should still indulge my alphas wishes._

_No, no, that’s not fair. It’s not true.  He doesn’t expect that. I can make the choice.  It’s my choice. It’s my mind._

_But my mind just belongs to the pack; nothing matters but the pack; serving my pack in whatever way is required of me._

He grips his hands together under the table when the shaking starts.  He managed okay in his conversation with Isaac, but Derek is different.  Apparently Damon doesn’t have enough of the trauma to make contradicting his Alpha entirely easy for Stiles.  

“I just want to understand what you’re saying,” Derek says.

“What he’s saying is that he’ll settle for multiple personalities as long as the main personality gets to be ‘normal’,” Isaac replies, unmistakable bitterness in the tone.

“It’s not such a bad trade when you think about it,” Stiles replies defensively.  “There are a lot worse things.  I could be _normal_ except for the switches.  Don’t you see how insanely awesome that could be?”

“What happens if that’s not the case? What happens if we have complications and Holly doesn’t know what’s going on with you because you’re not talking to her anymore?” Isaac replies.

“ _You_ don’t meet with Holly regularly anymore,” Stiles retorts, anger at Isaac pushing him past the conditioning.

“That’s different.  My symptoms have gotten better; yours are--”

“Fuck you!” Stiles spits angrily.  “It’s the same damn thing! You went to Holly until you felt like you could manage on your own; I’m trying to do the same.  You have no right to stop me, Isaac.  Just because we’ve got different levels of shit to shovel through doesn’t mean you--”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Isaac says, voice so patronizing it makes Stiles blood boil.  “You can’t honestly think it’s wise for anyone with DID to just stop talking to their therapist and--”

“This isn’t exactly a textbook case! We’re winging it, and you know it! We can’t be sure what does or doesn't help, not _really_.  As a matter of fact, there are lots of documented cases where DID only surfaced _after_ patients started going to therapy! What if it’s just making everything worse?!”

Stiles can’t quell the shaking now, but he’s not sure if it’s from fear of arguing with superiors or rage that Isaac’s trying to deny Stiles control of his own fucking recovery. He’d expected some resistance, but not this.  He’d figured they would trust him to know his own mind.  He thought they would give him a bit more credit than this, not treat him like an invalid who can’t make his own decisions.

“Stiles, Holly is trained to help people through things like this.  DID isn’t a neurochemical irregularity, it’s psychological.  Sure there are some things that can help with symptoms if we can figure out dosages or something but, for the multiple personalities, therapy is the only treatment option; you've got to work through it; and she’s the best equipped person we know.  We’re lucky that she--”

“We’re _lucky_?!” Stiles scoffs.  “Lucky?! The hell we are! We’re fucking _cursed_ and having Damon take some of the pain away is the closest thing I’ve had to a miracle in a long time, so excuse the hell out of me for wanting to take it! You can’t make me talk to her!”

The last words come out as a true growl, and Stiles’ claws and fangs lengthen as his anger finally gets the better of him.  He shoves his chair back from the table and rises to his feet; Isaac mirrors the move.

“Calm down a second, Stiles. No one is trying to _make_ you do anything,” Derek interjects, finding his voice in the argument as he rises slowly.

At the sound of his alpha’s voice, fear seizes Stiles completely, despite the assurances in Derek’s words.

 _I was going to fight a superior packmate.  The Alpha’s unhappy_   _to see us arguing_. _We’re upsetting him; that’s not good; I need to fix it._

“I’m sorry, Derek--I--I don’t mean to--to cause problems,” Stiles stammers, eyes trained on the table in front of Derek because he can’t manage to look Derek in the face.  The words spill out before he can contain the pitiful blubbering.  “I just--I thought--”

“Stiles, I didn’t mean to…” Isaac apologizes from across the table, anger draining from his face and replaced with pity that only makes Stiles feel more pathetic.

“It’s okay, Stiles,” Derek assures.  “It’s good for us to discuss all this. I’m glad you’re talking to us,” he replies with a smile that’s clearly forced for Stiles’ benefit and then looks to Isaac, like they’re a team, like he’s silently asking Isaac how to get the result they need from this conversation.

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Stiles repeats.  “If--you want me to go, I can--I’ll talk to whoever you want me to.  I know better than to argue; I know I belong to the pack; whatever you think I should do,” Stiles replies, and his rage only grows at the sound of the unbidden words. He manages not to fall to his knees only by plopping back down into his chair.  

“Stiles, don’t,” Derek pleads.  

“This is why I need Damon!” he shouts, slamming a fist into the table in frustration.  “Don’t you _hear_ me? I won’t let ”

 _Of course he hears you; you disgusting lunatic!_ Thomas hisses in Stiles’ mind.   _He’s so worried for your sanity he’s stooped to allowing a human close to his pack.  You’re broken and burdensome, and instead of being grateful they try to fix you, you resist their mercy.  Ungrateful little shit!_

“I don’t mean to be ungrateful, and if you think that it’s best, Alpha, of course I’ll--I’ll,” Stiles mutters automatically, but he manages to stop the words after another moment, arguing,  “No, but--but I don’t want to, and--and I don’t think it’s--it’s please don’t make me, Derek; _please_?”

Stiles stomach churns to hear the piteous words that are leaving his lips right now, but he can’t stifle the panic that’s rising in him. He manages to glance up at Isaac and Derek in turn, sickened to see the looks of horror, grief and pity.

“Stiles, of course I’m not going to make you.  It’s okay; just take a breath,” Derek encourages, “You’re okay.”

“But I--I can go to therapy if it’s what you want me to do,” he replies, backtracking again.  “I will; I would for you, Alpha; anything, everything you’d like,” Stiles swears, words tasting sour in his mouth as he fights the urge to list the ways he’d try to make up for his ungrateful, insubordinate behavior.

“Stiles, don’t.  It’s really okay,” Derek assures.

“We’ll figure it all out later,” Isaac adds.  “No one’s going to force you to do anything.”

“You don’t have to force me,” Stiles assures.  “Anything, you want, Alpha; I know how to be good,” he assures, and the memory that swims to the surface, one of the countless times he spoke those words to Thomas, makes Stiles so nauseated that he rises and sprints for the bathroom to avoid hurling his breakfast on the dining room table.

 

******************************

 

            Watching Stiles argue against his conditioned reaction like a man possessed has Derek aching to bolt for the door.  Stiles retreats down the hall, and Derek rises to follow suit and retreat out the back door; Isaac reaches a hand to stop him.

            “Don’t, Derek. Stay? Help?” he requests with tears welling in his eyes, and Derek nods.

“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry.”

“I get it,” Isaac replies.  “I know how awful it is when he talks to you like that.  But it’s not your fault; it’s mine. I shouldn’t have--”

“This isn’t your fault,” Derek assures, grabbing Isaac’s hand.  

“I just--I want him to get better; to _really_ get better, you know? Not just to get by.  Right?”

Derek pauses before agreeing, unable to shake the nausea of having Stiles so wrecked over trying to play to any preference Derek showed.

“I want Stiles to make the choice on his own,” Derek replies, “and if I voice an opinion...it undermines his free will, Isaac. You saw what just happened.”

Isaac opens his mouth to reply, but whatever retort he had planned dies in his throat.  Instead he just sighs, sounding as exhausted as Derek feels.  

“Come on,” Isaac bids, pulling Derek behind him down the hall toward the sound of Stiles’ retching.  Isaac stops outside the closed bathroom door, and instead of reaching for the handle says, “You don’t have to open the door, but we’re here.”

There’s a beat or two of silence before Stiles croaks back.  “I’m okay.”

            “I didn’t mean to upset you like that,” Isaac says.  

            “No one is gonna force you to do anything, Stiles; you know that,” Derek adds.  “You don’t have to worry about me getting mad or--or anything like that.”

            “I know,” Stiles replies.  The sound of running water follows his words, and from the splashing sounds it seems like he’s washing his face and rinsing his mouth out.  “The conditioning just kind of took over for a second there. I just--uh--gimme a minute?”

            “Sure,” Isaac agrees.

            “All the time you need,” Derek adds.

            It’s a while before Stiles reemerges, looking more embarrassed than anything.  His eyes are red, and Derek thinks maybe he was washing tear streaks from his face.  The idea makes Derek want to sob himself, but he bites at the inside of his cheek to help keep his expression in check because Stiles is still trembling just slightly.  

Stiles doesn’t meet their eyes as he says, “I don’t want to fight about this; I _can’t_ really fight you two.” There’s a weariness in his tone that puts an ache in Derek’s chest.  “But I’ll--I’ll keep trying to argue my point,” Stiles asserts, slowly bring his face up to look at them with defiance shining in his eyes.  “Because it’s _my_ mind and--and I sh--should get a say in whether,” he pauses, breathing deeply before he goes on.  “Whether or not I keep talking to Holly. It’s n--not your d---decision,” he finishes, voice a strained whisper by the time he’s done, but powerful nonetheless.  

            Derek just nods once in acknowledgement of the words because he can’t bring himself to risk tearing Stiles down again when he’s trying so hard to overcome the conditioning and voice his own opinion rather than parroting his superiors’.  Isaac frowns at the words, obviously still displeased with the plan.  Stiles doesn’t say anything further, he just moves past them and makes his way back toward the dining room. Derek and Isaac fall into step behind Stiles, following suit as he sits back at the table and determinedly finishes his breakfast.

            Derek thinks Isaac is probably right, that the wisest choice is to continue to involve someone with professional training as they try to get a handle on Stiles’ DID. At the same time, he’s in no way prepared to force Stiles into talking, not when Derek’s spent most of his life being the master of burying horrors of the past.  Besides, Isaac says all the time that in psychology “every case is different” and Stiles’ case is _especially_ unique.  There’s no way for _any_ of them to say exactly what’s _best_. And therapy won’t help Stiles much if he doesn’t _want_ it to; he’s maybe the most stubborn person Derek’s ever known.  

            Isaac and Stiles exchange strained glances, lips pursed like they’re both on the brink of blurting out something that would start the argument up again.  Derek can’t quite shake the feeling of being torn in two; unable to take either side without renewing the fight.  He doesn’t really _want_ to take a side either, not when he can see the merit in both arguments and Stiles is so wired to factor Derek’s preference into his actions, intentionally or not.  

Derek escapes to go for a run as soon as they clear up from breakfast, sprinting until the only thing filling his mind is the pounding of his own pulse.   He runs until his lungs burn and his muscles ache, enjoying the brief solitude and simplicity before he circles back toward the house.    Life seems simple when he runs like this, finding a rhythm, just one foot in front of the other.

 

**************************************

 

Stiles begins the note to Damon three times to no avail, crumpling up the paper and tossing it in the bin each.  He sighs, running a hand down his face in frustration.  Why does his life always have to be so damn _complicated_?  He thinks he might regret it, but he pulls out his phone to find Cora’s number.   She answers on the fourth ring.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s Stiles.”

“Amazingly enough, my caller ID informed me of that.”

“Yeah, well, amazingly enough, I’ve got multiple personalities, so it’s really a crapshoot when you’re talking to me.”

“Derek got Damon his own phone.”

“Oh, right,” Stiles replies, remembering the simple flip phone that appeared in Damon’s last memory download; it’s got all the pack’s numbers programmed in, in case of emergency and whatnot.  

“So, is there a _reason_ you’re calling, or….” Cora wonders impatiently.

“I need a favor,” Stiles replies, “not for me. For Damon.”

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough to Damon?” she retorts.

“Look, I’m--I’m trying to write him an apology, okay?” Stiles admits, heat rising in his cheeks in embarrassment at how fucking _insane_ this sounds.  “Ya know, ‘cause I really do feel pretty shitty that he’s having to deal with all this.  You--you made some decent points, and I’ve left him notes before so I thought--I dunno--that I’d try to apologize, but I don’t know how.  You understand Damon better than anybody else, so I was hoping you had some advice?”

She sighs heavily on the other end of the line, and Stiles swears he can _hear_ how hard she’s rolling her eyes.  Nevertheless, after a beat or two more she speaks.

“Don’t apologize,” she says, “thank him.”

“Thank him?”

“Yeah, thank him for working so hard to shoulder all the shit you’re dumping on him,” she expounds.  “Tell him how good of him it is; how much everyone appreciates it; what a good job Derek says he’s doing processing.  Make it sound like he’s the goddamn hero of the pack.”

“So he’ll feel useful,” Stiles realizes.   _Just by existing_ he adds automatically, repeating the ultimate goal of his conditioned self.

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

“Tell him how great he’s doing with me,” Cora instructs.  “Be sure you mention that he’s a lot better at it than you are,” she adds tartly.

“Noted.”

“That should be about all the praise he can process at one time; don’t overdo it or he won’t trust it.”

“Thanks, Cora.”

“Not doing it for you,” she points out.  “But you’re welcome.”

“See you for pack dinner.”

“See ya.”

 

*****************************************

 

            Isaac hopes that Stiles will rethink his decision to stop therapy in the days following the original fight.  Instead, he only becomes more and more convinced that he’s making the right choice.  He keeps conducting little ‘tests’ to both prove to himself and demonstrate to Derek and Isaac the so-called progress that has followed the creation of Damon.  He lets dinner get cold; he falls asleep while Derek’s gone instead of waiting awake for his return; he lets laundry pile up and leaves dirty dishes in the sink.

            They’re all triumphs; there’s no denying it.  Isaac just isn’t sure when the other shoe is going to drop.  What’s the real price Stiles will end up paying for these accelerated results? It just all seems too good to be true. But if Stiles maintains his argument that it’s “a risk he’s willing to take” then there’s no way that Isaac and Derek can get him to therapy without forcing him, and with Stiles’ stubborn streak, forcing him won’t help much.  Therapy would only help Stiles as much as he would allow it.  

 

***************************************************

 

            Damon wakes with his whole body aching.  He opens his eyes to try and find the source of the uncomfortable pressure on his head, reaching up instinctively to touch his face.  But he’s wearing a helmet.

            _What? Why? Where am I?_

He can at least feel that he’s in pack territory of some kind, perhaps the woods around Derek’s pack house, since he realizes that he’s lying amidst dirt and leaves on a forest floor.   He rises slowly to his feet, and removes the helmet to look for signs of the house or his alpha, there’s nothing but an endless expanse of trees.  He turns instead to the vehicle that seems to have brought him here: the blue fourwheeler.  

            _Stiles was driving this? Why? To patrol maybe? Or--or to meet Derek? Or maybe some kind of errand? There are too many options.  I don’t know what he was doing.  I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now that we’ve switched.  What do I do? Which way is home?_

“D--derek?” he calls timidly, voice barely carrying.  “Derek?!” he tries again a bit louder.  “Isaac?!”

_They aren’t here.  They can’t hear me.  They’re not coming.  I’m lost and no one knows they should look for me._

He could follow his own scent back, hoping to reach the house.  But Stiles leaves pack territory.  He knows how to interact with humans

_What if I start walking and it’s really leading me farther from home than getting closer ? Stiles might’ve been on his way home.  What if I run into to someone who isn’t pack? I’m not sure where our scent will take me._

_Should I just stay here? But that’s not very useful.  I should do something.  I should be smart enough to figure this out.  I need to figure something out._

_The phone! Derek gave me a phone!_ Damon remembers, searching his pockets desperately, praying that Stiles was carrying both like Derek promised he would.  

The search only reveals Stiles’ smartphone, not the little blue flip phone that Derek got Damon.  But Stiles’ phone will do.  He hits the button for the emergency contacts like Isaac taught him, and smiles in relief to see both Derek and Isaac’s numbers listed there.  Derek answers on the second ring.  

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks.

“It’s--it’s Damon.  I’m sorry, Derek, but I’m not sure where I am,” he admits nervously.  “It’s--it feels like pack but--I’m just not sure how to get home--and--and please, Derek, can you--would you come help me, _please_?”

“Yeah, Damon, of course,” Derek agrees immediately.  “There’s nothing to be sorry about.  Don’t worry, okay?  I’ll come find you.”

“Thank you, Derek! _Thank you._ ”

“Stiles was just riding around our land, so you’re close to the house. I can see where you are from the GPS on the phone.”

“Thank you, Derek.  I _promise_ I’ll learn the territory better, so I can find my way back next time.  I don’t mean to make you--”  Damon’s words give way to a whimper as an all-too-familiar stabbing sensation assaults his head.  

“Damon?!”

“I’m okay, Derek,” he gasps, “just--”

But all further words are lost to the shriek of pain ripped from his lungs as another round of Stiles’ worst memories flood his senses.  

 

************************************

 

            By the time Derek gets to Damon, he’s sobbing in agony.  There’s not much Derek can do but wait it out with him, scooping Damon up and guiding his head to hide his eyes from the light in the crook of Derek’s neck.  He’s scared the noise of the fourwheeler will cause more harm than good, so he opts to walk back to the house as quickly as he can.  Damon clings tightly as they go, hiccuping apologies through the tears when he starts to gain awareness of his surroundings again.  

            “I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’ll be good,” he swears.

            “You are good, Damon,” Derek swears.  “You’re loved and useful and kept.  I’m gonna get you home and get you some medicine, okay?”

            “Y--yes, A--alpha.”

            “Derek,” he corrects.  “I’m Derek, remember?”

            “Yes, yes! I’m sorry! I’m so st--stupid.”

            “You’re not stupid.  You’re just in pain,” he soothes.   “You got a lot of memories, didn’t you?”

            “Yes.”

            “They can’t hurt you anymore; you’re safe with us.”

            “It’s different here,” Damon murmurs tiredly.  “No matter what they say in my head it’s different here.”

            “Good, Damon; That’s exactly right. It’s different here; you’re safe,” he swears.

           

 

**************************************************

Damon wakes slowly in the familiar warmth of the bed Derek gave him, still feeling the after-effects of the sedation his alpha was kind enough to give him.  He tries not to focus too closely on the new volumes of memories now swirling through his head.  He hears footsteps in the hall outside his room, and he’s pretty sure it’s those memories that make it impossible to ignore the conditioning that demands he get up _now_ and do something _useful_ before the alpha finds out how lazy he was to be sleeping.  He sits up too quickly, and has to pause for a moment before he can swing his legs to the floor and stand.  

“Damon?” Isaac says, voice gentle, but nevertheless Damon’s conditioning sends him to his knees; Isaac steps into the doorway of the room but enters no further.

 _Never without an invitation,_ Damon remembers.    

“Sorry, Isaac, I’m sorry,” Damon says, regaining his feet because they don’t like him to kneel.  “You--you can come in, of course, and--and I’m awake now, so I can--”

“No rush,” Isaac interjects kindly, taking a few steps into the room.  “I was just checking in on you.  Are you feeling okay?”

“I can start on my tasks.  I’m fine.”

“Whenever you’re ready; there’s no rush,” he repeats.

“Th--thank you, Isaac; I want to be good; I can be good and useful; I _promise_. I’ll make up for the time Derek had to waste finding me and the time I was asleep and--”

“Don’t worry about all that,” Isaac interjects, he moves a few steps closer, and Damon forges himself to be good and stay still, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth against the urge to flinch back.  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Isaac apologizes, stopping in his tracks.  “you probably have all kinds of memories making things difficult right now; I wasn’t thinking.”

“I can still be good,” Damon promises weakly.  

“You’re always good, Damon,” Isaac assures.  “It’s nice to see you again,” he adds, and Damon’s head jerks up to look at Isaac, sure he must have misheard the words.  “It’s been a while.”

“Th--thank you, Isaac,” Damon replies, managing to keep his smile small and humble despite the elation swelling in his chest at the kind greeting.

“Is there anything in the new memories you want to share? Anything that worries you or confuses you?” Isaac wants to know.

“I--I can manage, Isaac, thank you. It’s different here,” Damon replies simply, wishing the three words were really enough to negate the trauma he inherits from Stiles.  

“That’s right,” Isaac replies, “and just remember you can always talk to us about anything if you want to, okay?”

“Yes, Isaac, thank you,” Damon answers dutifully.  “I--I can get to work now,” he adds.  “I _want_ to,” he amends, remembering Derek’s constant instruction to ‘do as he wants.’

“If you want,” Isaac agrees,  “But it’s only about four o’clock.  If you’d like, you can take some time to read the note Stiles left you; but if you want to save it for later, that’s fine too.”

He gestures toward the nightstand, and Damon flinches at the movement without meaning to.  Damon turns to see an envelope propped against the lamp; it bears his name in messy lettering, and he reaches tentatively for it before he can consider if it’s really the best move.  He wants to read it for himself, but it’s not really useful.  He should go downstairs and assess the options for dinner.

_But Isaac specifically said this was okay...._

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Isaac says kindly as Damon grabs the envelope.  “Derek and I are right downstairs; let us know if you need anything.”

“Yes, Isaac; thank you.”

He breaks the seal slowly, wondering what Stiles as to say to him.  The last note was about believing Derek when he said Damon could have anything he wanted for the new room.  Perhaps this is similar encouragement.

 _Dear Damon,_ he reads. _I wanted to thank you._ Damon pauses, reading the sentence again to be sure he got the words right, and a small smile plays at the corner of his lips.   _I know that it can’t be easy for you to handle all these memories from me while you’re still adjusting to life in this pack, but you’re doing such a great job with it.  I know you’re working really hard at managing all of it, and I know Derek and Isaac and the rest of the pack really appreciate it.  I do too; it helps me a lot to have someone to share the memories with.  Derek’s told me how proud he is of the way you work so hard and what an excellent part of the pack you are._

Damon stops reading, overwhelmed at the praise in the words, and the affirmation from a third party that the alpha really is pleased with Damon’s progress.  Even though there’s so much to improve upon, if Derek really can see that Damon’s working to process it all...he smiles outright with pride before returning to the letter.

_Derek and Isaac say you’ve been really great with Cora.  I wanted to say thanks for that too.  Cora and I never really connected, but you two seem to understand each other.  Everyone says how well you work together.  I’m glad you two are becoming good friends, and I know Derek has to be thrilled.  He used to be so worried that Cora wouldn’t feel at home with this pack, and I bet all the work you two do together is helping her a lot._

Damon’s smile grows at the thought of Cora, wondering idly if she’ll come by sometime soon.  He’s enjoying their friendship, and the rewarding feeling of something that he enjoys that also pleases Derek.  And to find that it’s a job Stiles struggled with while Damon excels, it’s encouraging no matter how unbelievable it seems.   

He reads the letter four times, trying to memorize every word.  Then he folds it carefully, returns it to the envelope, and stores it carefully in the drawer of his nightstand.  It’s too wasteful of time to dwell on it further now, but he thinks he might read it again before bed tonight...

 

******************************************

 

            Other than the first time he came, finding himself at the humans’ house for Thanksgiving, Damon has left the pack house three times: twice to go through a drive-through with Isaac and Derek, safely tucked into the backseat with Cora and once to ride with Derek to take Cora by the apartment he’s given her in town so that she could pick up some things.  He’s never gotten out of the car, and he can’t say that he has any problem with that.  It’s difficult to manage himself in familiar, predictable scenarios, much less when variables start to come into play.   But tonight he’ll get out of the car when they arrive at the human’s--the sheriff’s house--because that’s what Derek wants him to do--and he’ll go inside for pack dinner because the sheriff invited them over for burgers.  The plans were made before Damon arrived, and he’s determined not to burden them with having to change things around.

            “Sure you’re okay, Damon?” Isaac asks from his spot riding shotgun.  “It’s really okay if you want to stay home.  Everyone could come there or one of us could stay with you if you’d rather. We wouldn’t mind.”

            In all honestly, Damon longs to take them up on the offer.  But it was clear when they discussed it that Isaac and Derek seem to think that expanding Damon’s time outside the house could be good.  He closes his eyes, remembering from Stiles’ letter how proud they are all when he makes progress, remembering the hopeful looks on Derek and Isaac’s faces when they asked if Damon thought he could handle this trip.

            “Pack dinner is important,” Damon replies with more confidence than he feels. “I’m okay, Isaac.”

            “Let us know if you change your mind or want to leave.”

            “Yes, Isaac.”

            _I’ll be okay.  I can do this.  It’s all still pack.  I can do this.  I can be good._

Cora reaches a hand across the space between them in the backseat, and Damon takes it with a small smile.  He sees Derek note the movement in the rearview mirror, and he seems pleased, as always, that Damon’s friendship with Cora has continued.  It means more than Damon could express to have something in the pack dynamics he _finally_ seems to do correctly.  He turns to look out the window again, watching the chaos of all the humans of Beacon Hils going about their everyday lives.  

            _Never interact with them, Beta, do you understand? Only if you’re told to hunt.  Otherwise you never interact with anything outside the pack; never trust anything outside the pack; the pack is your world; the pack is all that matters, do you understand?_ Thomas asks as Damon takes in the scenes outside the car.

            _That doesn’t matter right now,_ Damon reminds the voice, _this is pack.  It’s pack dinner.  The human counts as pack.  I’m being good.  It’s okay._

 _Humans have no place in a pack!_ Alec asserts.

            _Some do; it’s different here; Derek likes having some humans around the pack and in the pack.  It’s different here.  It’s better.  Derek’s way is better.  Derek’s way matters now. Not yours._

He’s so caught up in his mental argument that Damon doesn’t really take note of the house they pull up to until Derek announces, “Here we are.”  

Damon feels as though he’s been doused in ice water when he realizes that he’s seen this place before in Stiles’ memories.  One of the easiest ways to push the worst scenes from his mind is to repeat Derek’s promise that it’s all gone and over and Damon doesn’t have to deal with any of it.

            This is different.  This is the setting of a memory that so terrified Stiles that Damon thinks he might be sick at the sight of it.  His hand starts to shake in Cora’s, but she tightens her grip, running her thumb across the back of his hand reassuringly.  

            “It’s okay, Damon; it’s pack territory,” she reminds.  

            “Y-yes, I know,” he replies.

            _That’s what makes it so horrible.  They brought him here--to a safe place--to torture and break him.  He was supposed to be safe.  This place is supposed to be safe._

_But it’s not.  It wasn’t then, so what if it isn’t now?_

_I don’t want to be here. I don’t. I want to go home! Please, please I want to go home! Home to the room Derek gave me or Derek’s kitchen.  I want to go home!_

“Damon, we don’t have to do this,” Derek says gently, as though he can read Damon’s thoughts.  “We can go back to our house if you want.  I won’t be angry at all.  I don’t mind.”

            The words are so kind and earnest.   But Damon knows the truth.

            _Derek wants to go inside.  He wants us all to go inside; he wants us to eat as a pack and bond and be friends._

_But why here? Why would he bring us all here if it isn’t safe?_

_No, no he’s the alpha.  I shouldn’t question his judgement.  I should trust him.  I should be good for him.  He’s such a wonderful alpha, I want to be good for him.  I do. I will.  I’ll be good for him.  I’ll go in the house.  I’ll go in the house for Derek, because Derek wants us all to go in, and I want Derek to have whatever he wants._

Damon draws a deep breath before finally replying, “Th--thank you, Derek.  I’m okay.”

            “We’ll be right there with you,” Derek swears.  “Thank you for trying something new.”

            “I’m glad to, Derek,” he lies--well, it’s not _completely_ untrue. He’s not glad to have to go in this house, but he’s glad to try and please his alpha; he wants Derek to be proud of him.

            He gets out of the car slowly, but Derek and Isaac wait patiently for him. Cora scoots across to get out on the same side as Damon so that their hands never part.  She’s a very good beta--a good friend.  

He grips her hand tightly as they start up the front walk because his legs are starting to feel like jelly.  He half-expects to fall as he climbs the front steps, but he doesn’t.  He makes it across the threshold and into the foyer.  The human greets them, failing as always to call Damon by name, but his attention isn’t focused on that.  Instead his eyes lock in on all the pictures and decorations adorning the walls, remembering what they all looked like in the dimness of night as the alphas forced Stiles through this place, through the entryway, down the hall, up the stairs into--

            “Damon?” Derek says in concern as his beta’s legs finally fail him.

            “I’m sorry, Derek; I know you don’t like it,” he replies, struggling to regain his feet with Cora’s assistance.  “I’ll stand up; I’ll be good; I promise!”

            “It’s okay; I was just worried,” Derek answers kindly.  “You feel okay?”

            “Y--yes, Derek; I’m okay,” Damon lies.

            “Tell you what,” the human--sheriff--says.  “I--uh--I know you’re pretty great in the kitchen Damon.  I got all the ingredients for some potato salad.  Maybe you could put it together for us? If you feel up to it?”

            “Y--yes, I’m good in the kitchen,” Damon replies.  “Derek, would you like me to?”

            “I’d appreciate it, but if you need to sit down for a minute, that’s okay.  Do you feel sick?”

            “I’m okay, Derek.  I’ll make the potato salad.”

            “Can I help?” Cora requests, and Damon nods eagerly.  

            “Yes, that would be good of you.”

            He manages to keep himself upright despite the intensifying sense of dread at moving farther into the house, but when he walks into the kitchen to find Scott frying bacon, all he can smell instead is the stench of Stiles’ burning flesh; and the sizzle of the bacon becomes the harsh hiss the iron makes every time it comes back down on Stiles’ exposed skin.  It’s overwhelming and inescapable as his legs buckle again, and Damon vomits all over the tile floor of the kitchen before he can control himself.  

            The act sets them all into a tizzy, but none of the words they say process as the scene that must have plagued Stiles horribly flashes again and again through Damon’s mind, blocking out everything else.  He tries to apologize, swears he’ll clean up the mess, vows he’ll be good, but he isn’t sure any of the words actually leave his lips.  All he knows is the absolute terror that’s seizing every fiber of his being, and for the first time he resents Stiles for casting this horrific memory onto him.

Damon does his best to regain his feet.  He needs to mop up the mess he made, but the smell is still so overpowering that he can’t get the memory out of his head.  He thinks he might be sick again, but he can’t retreat to the bathroom or outside because he can’t move.  He can’t move or think or get the words out like he wants to.  Derek’s arm comes down to reach around Damon and bring him up to his feet.  He dutifully goes along with the movement, but the minute Derek turns toward the stairs the terror ratchets up to a whole new level.

 

***********************************************************

 

            “Deaton’s on his way,” John says as Derek helps Damon to his feet; Damon goes along with the movement, though he’s barely supporting his own weight.  “I thought werewolves couldn’t get sick; what is this? Wolfsbane?”

            Derek wishes Damon’s words were more than the panicked, incoherent whining and “sorry” over and over.  He’s not sure if this is some kind of panic attack or an actual sickness.  Either way he’s wondering if bringing Damon here was as positive a step as they hoped it would be.  

            “It can’t be wolfsbane; he’s been with us; we’d know,” Isaac tells John.  “But there are some viruses and things werewolves can get.  I’m sure--I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

            “Come on, Damon; it’s okay; let’s get you someplace more comfortable,” Derek says gently, and Damon moves with him as they leave the kitchen, shuffling his feet but still unable to get his legs to fully cooperate it seems.

            _What’s wrong with you? What’s happening? Please just talk, Damon,_ Derek pleads silently.  

            As they pass the stairs, Damon goes completely limp in Derek’s arms, but gets out his most coherent sentences yet:

            “No, Derek, please not you,” he wails, “please not from you, Derek; not like this _please. Anything_ you want but--but-- _please_ Derek not that.”

            “Hey, hey, look at me; you’re okay,” Derek swears, as he lowers Damon to a sitting position against the wall.  “Look at me, Damon, please?”

            Damon does as he’s told, staring at Derek through haunted, tear-filled eyes.  

            “What do you think is happening?” Derek asks.

            “I don’t know!” Damon admits piteously, “I--I know it’s different in your pack but--but--I’m not sure--what--what happens here--and--and they say you want--” He clamps his hands over his ears, clearly wishing he could block out the voices he must be hearing.  “But you wouldn’t--you--you know I’m--I’m yours, Derek; of _course,_ I’m yours; you don’t need to break me, Derek; I _swear_ I’ll be a good beta and do whatever--”

            “Damon, I would _never, ever_ hurt you,” Derek promises.  “They’re lying if they tell you otherwise, and of course I wouldn’t try to break you.  You’re a great beta, Damon. We love you.”

            “Your beta; yours; I know,” Damon swears.  “I know; I know I belong to the pack, Derek; I do.  I know.  I understand; I know I’m yours.”

            The words are meant as some twisted show of loyalty, but they just make bile rises in Derek’s throat as he realizes when he’s heard Stiles say things similar to this.

            “Damon, you know this house, don’t you?” Isaac asks, having the same realization but, as always, finding words before Derek can.

            “Yes,” Damon sobs.  “I know it; I know what happened, but--but it was them, wasn’t it? Not you too Derek? You wouldn’t--not like that, Derek, _please_ ,” he implores.

            “That happened while Stiles was still trapped with the Alpha Pack,” Derek says.  “Nothing like that will _ever_ happen to you Damon; I swear to you. It’s--it’s just a horrible memory, something I couldn’t protect him from, but--but I would _never_ do anything like that to you.  I will never hurt you, Damon.  Please believe me.”

            “Y--yes, Derek. Th--thank you.”

            “Come on; we’ll get you back home, okay? You don’t have to stay here,” Derek says.  “I’m gonna help you up, but I’m not going to hurt you. We’ll just go to the car.”

            “I can--can stay now Derek,” Damon offers.  “Now I--I understand better.  I can stay.”

            “That’s okay, Damon.  You don’t need to do that for me.”

            “P--pack dinners are im--important, Derek.  I c--can stay and m--make the p--potato salad. I’ll be good. I pr--promise.”

            “I know you’d be good Damon, but it’s okay. You can--”

            “Maybe me and Damon could go to the car for a little bit?” Cora cuts in, “and--and he can catch his breath and get his bearings and then--then we could see?”

            “Y--yes, Derek, please?” Damon agrees.  “P--please let me try?”

            “If you’d like to do that, you can,” Derek agrees, “but if you decide you’d rather go home, that’s okay too, just send Cora back in to let me know.  I won’t be disappointed or angry at all, okay? I promise.”

            “Th--thank you, Derek.”

           

**************************************************

 

            As Damon and Cora disappear out the front door, John disappears out the back.  Isaac hesitates for a moment or two before following.  He expects John might need a comforting hand on his shoulder or just the solidarity of some company, but by the time he catches up to his father-in-law the man is leaning against the back of the house sobbing.  Isaac very nearly breaks down himself at the sight, tears stinging his eyes as he moves to wrap John in a tight embrace.

            “He’s fine; he’ll be fine,” Isaac assures.  

            John replies with words too garbled to make out, so Isaac just shushes him with more words that don’t nearly make up for any of the horrible trials they’ve all been through--or the ones they’re still going to face.

“He’ll be okay, John.  It’ll be fine.”

“He never--never said anything to me about--did he say anything to you?” John wonders miserably, his first coherent sentence.

“About that night? We knew they brought him--”

“That the house made him think about it,” John says.  “Our house; _his_ house.  Makes him flash back to--”

It seems John can’t quite finish the sentence, last words choking off into another sob.  He releases his hold on Isaac, turning away and running a hand through his hair; the move is so similar to Stiles’ it’s uncanny.  

“Damon is different,” Isaac reminds.

“You don’t have to tell me that,” John replies bitterly, “but all the same he’s--”

“He doesn’t have any good memories,” Isaac points out.  “That’s a big difference.  Stiles has _tons_ of good memories of this house; I’m sure it’s plenty to outweigh that one horrible one.”

“Is it?  He’s supposed to feel safe here; it’s his home,” John goes on, but looks guiltily at Isaac once the words are out.  “Not to say--I mean of course his home is with you and Derek but--”

“I know what you meant,” Isaac assures.  “John, I’m sure he never said anything because--”

“Because he _never_ says anything,” John interjects.  “He’s always so damn determined to just try and handle it all on his own, and he’s got that _idiotic_ idea that he’s burdening us; and he’s so goddamn _stubborn_.”

“Can’t imagine where he gets it from,” Isaac teases, hoping desperately to lighten the mood.  

John glares at him, but there’s no heat to the look.  He doesn’t smile, but his frown becomes slightly less severe.  Isaac’ll take what he can get.

“At least this is something I can fix,” John says.  

“Fix?”

“House hasn’t gotten new decorating since Claudia died.  I didn’t know what the hell I was doing and neither me or Stiles cared about interior design enough to do much more than get new sofas when the old ones wore out,” he expounds.  “Lydia can figure something I’m sure.  New--new paint or wallpaper or something.  Different flooring.  All that stuff. Then we’ll find a new color for the exterior, and--and anything else that--that we can think of to change it.   I don’t want his house matching the image out of nightmares.”

“John, that’s--”

“Something I can fix,” he repeats determinedly.  “Even if it just helps in the slightest, that’s enough.  It’s something I can fix.”

 

******************************************************************************

 

            As eager as he is to get out of the house, Damon manages to keep himself from sprinting to the car.  Cora follows close behind him, getting into the backseat on the other side and sitting silently as Damon just focuses on getting his pulse down and his breathing even again.

            _Baby steps.  Calm down.  You’re okay.  Just calm down so you can go back inside for Derek._

Cora offers her hand, and Damon shrinks away before he can rein in the reaction.

            “Please, don’t touch me,” he requests, but she’s already drawing her hand away, retreating against the door to give Damon as much space as she can.

            “Sure, I understand.  I won’t.  You want me to stay in the car though?” she wonders. “I could--”

            “Yes, in the car is good.”

            “Okay.”

            The sit for a moment or two more before she breaks the silence.  

            “Derek won’t be angry if you want to go home; I used to have to leave pack dinners all the time when I first came back to the pack,” she shares.  “He never minded.”

            “Why did you leave the dinners?”

            “I’d been on my own for a while, and being around so many people was just kind of--difficult; and it--it was nice but it kind of reminded me of all the people who _weren’t_ there, too.  Sometimes the dinners were just too overwhelming.  I needed to take some time on my own.”

            “I don’t want time on my own.  I want--want to bond with the pack--like--like Derek wants.”

            “Because it’s what Derek wants or what you want?”

            “Derek’s our Alpha.  I want him to have whatever he wants.”

            “I know; I just meant--”

            “I want to understand how it all works--for Derek _and_ for me.”

            _I want to understand this pack because I want to belong here. I want to fit into my place.  I want to know where I stand and how I should act and what Derek expects from all of us._

“Okay, well, how--how can I help?”

            “I’ll be fine soon.”

            “Yes, Damon,  but--but I want to help if I can.”

            “That’s good of you,” Damon praises, “but I’ll be fine.”

            “Maybe if you tell me what triggered all of it, then--then I could go in and do something to help it? Was is something you saw, or--?”

            “The house, the whole house and everything in the entryway was exactly the same,” Damon replies.  “And that smell of the bacon and the hiss reminded me too much of---of what they did, and---I just got confused,” he finishes, trying to dismiss the matter.  “It’s too much to change, Cora; it’s fine.”

            “D’you want to tell me about it? And I can tell you how Derek would handle it differently?” she offers.

            He hesitates, biting his lip before he shares, “I--I think it must’ve been before--before they broke Stiles and made him into me,” Damon replies.  

            “Damon, don’t say that like it’s something horrible.  You’re a _great_ beta; you--”

            “You don’t know what they did to him,” Damon counters.  “The--the things to break Stiles and--and he _didn’t_ ; he wouldn’t--wouldn’t do what they wanted even when they were pressing the iron in and he could smell his skin burning and Thomas was fucking him so hard he felt like he was going to rip apart and---and his whole body was on fire with pain, Cora, and he was crying but--but he didn’t--didn’t say what they wanted; he didn’t break for them, and--and I don’t think I can ever be like that.”

            “Nothing like that happens in this pack,” Cora says.  “Derek wouldn’t even hurt us like that.”

“And I--I want to be a good beta for Derek because he’s so good to us,” Damon replies. “but--but we’re _supposed_ to know when we’re beaten, aren’t we? We’re supposed to be--be broken for our Alphas, and--and--I am that way but--but that isn’t the kind of betas that Derek wants, is it? He wants strong betas like Stiles. Like--like Scott and Jackson and Isaac and--and even you,” he finishes miserably.  “You’re a lower beta but you still--you still understand what he wants better than me.  You understand how it all works.”

            “Damon, there is _nothing_ wrong with you! Of course Derek wants you in this pack! You’re the best beta any alpha could hope to get!”

            “But Derek doesn’t like doing things the wolf way,” Damon points out miserably.  “He likes everything more like the humans.”

            “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you; he does, Damon; you know that, don’t you?”

            “Yes.”

            _But I don’t deserve it.  And I don’t know what I could ever do to deserve it.  And what if one day he decides I’m just not worth dealing with anymore? I share the body with Stiles, but he could still send me away when I’m the one here.  He could separate me from the pack easily enough.  I couldn’t blame him; I’m not the beta he wants._

“And--and you’re right, Derek doesn’t want to break you because he doesn’t want to hurt you or have you be afraid but--but there’s nothing wrong with respecting your Alpha,” Cora goes on. “And you’re strong all the time.  You used to be so scared when you first started coming, and now--now you’re out of the house, and you got all the way inside even though you knew it might trigger something.  You make progress all the time!”

            _Not enough._

“You’re stronger than you think, Damon; you’re learning faster than you give yourself credit for.”

            Damon doesn’t reply, just stares out the car window at the house from his nightmares and wishes more than anything that Stiles could pass some understanding the way he passes memories.

            “We should go back inside,” Damon says.

            “We could go to the backyard,” Cora suggests.  “There’s a picnic table, and we could bring out another table.  The weather’s nice enough.  That way you don’t have to go back in.”

            “It’s too much trouble; I’ll be fine. I need to go make the potato salad.”

            “Damon--”

            “We’ve wasted enough time, Cora; we’re going back inside to help with the pack dinner,” he says firmly.

            _I can do this.  I can do this.  I can do this._

 

********************************************************************

 

            Isaac’s heart swells with pride to see Damon and Cora emerge slowly from the car.   This personality is so much braver than he perceives, but he can only imagine the terror that must be coursing through Damon as he attempts to come into a house that holds such a horrific memory.  Isaac steps out the front door, smiling and determined to keep all sense of melancholy off of his face.  

“I c-can come back inside now,” Damon says as he and Cora approach the house.  

“Actually we’re moving to the backyard,” Isaac says, coming down the path to meet them.  “The weather is so nice; it just makes sense.”

“I can go inside, Isaac; I promise!” Damon replies, sounding desperate. “I don’t want to be any trouble! Please, I can--”

“You’re not being trouble,” Isaac assures.  “In fact, it’s really useful.”

Damon was clearly in no way prepared for that response.  His mouth falls open in surprise, and he glances to Cora, and then back to Isaac hoping for an explanation.

“I’m glad, but I don’t understand, Isaac.”

“When you explain how you’re feeling, it’s useful because it gives us information that helps you and Stiles.  Let’s go in the backyard and we’ll all help you understand, okay?” Isaac says.  “There’s a little more privacy back there from the neighbors and everything.”

Everyone in this town knows that Stiles has been through some kind of vague but horrific trauma.  Nevertheless, Isaac doesn’t want to risk a meltdown of any kind on the front lawn of the sheriff’s house.  

“Yes, of course,” Damon agrees immediately.  “And I can still make the potato salad, Isaac.  I know all the ingredients and the ratios and that Derek and Scott like dill relish but the others like sweet so we always make both.  I can make both.”

“That would be fantastic, Damon. Thanks.  I think Scott was bringing all the supplies out to the picnic table in the back for you,” Isaac says.

They walk in silence for the short distance around the side of the Stilinski house and into the fenced-in backyard.  The ingredients are indeed on the table, and Damon moves immediately to start his task.  Isaac doesn’t stop him, assuming that it will help Damon calm down even more.  Sure enough, the second he sets to the task, Damon’s heart rate drops to a much more steady rhythm.  Cora joins Damon, and the rapport the two have built over the past few times Damon has presented is clear; they move as a unit.  Not for the first time, Isaac wishes he were able to connect with this personality in a similar way, rather than being a source of stress and fear. Isaac takes a seat at the table across from Damon and Cora, and Derek comes to join him.

“Damon was a little confused about how everything that happened earlier was useful,” Isaac says.  “I told him it wasn’t a burden for us to move things out here.  I thought you could explain a little more about why you’re glad he was honest about what happened inside?”

Derek would likely prefer Isaac explain; honestly, Isaac wouldn’t mind.  The fact remains that in Damon’s mind, Derek’s words will always hold the most weight.  So Derek nods, taking a moment before he starts speaking.

“Stiles doesn’t like to share much about what’s happened to him,” Derek says finally, “and we knew that there was a bad memory in this house, but we didn’t know that there were triggers for it still.  It’s something that we should have considered, but we didn’t.  What you said earlier, about how everything looks the same, and so the house still matches that horrible memory, it gave me information that I’m glad to have,” Derek says.  “Because now we can try to change things, so they don’t stress you or Stiles out anymore.”

“I don’t want to cause more w--work, Derek; I c--can manage,” Damon promises, though he glances over at the back door like it’s the gate to hell when he says it.

“I’m sure you could,” Derek replies, “but Stiles would have to manage, too, and I would much rather you two spend your energy on _enjoying_ time in this house, rather than trying to cope with the triggers that might come from the setting.  Like I said, I’m glad to know about this issue

because if I understand sources of stress for my betas, so I can help get rid of it.”

            “Derek cares about happy betas, more than productive ones, remember?” Cora murmurs quietly, and Isaac guesses she’s pulling from some other explanation she’s give Damon in their time together.  

            “That’s right, Cora,” Derek confirms.  “And there’s not always something to be done about the things that you and Stiles struggle with, but in this case there is.  And John wants to help with it.  It gives him a feeling of control and a task to do.  You know how calming that can be for someone.”

            “Yes, Derek, and--and I can help, too, if you’d like me to.”

            “And me,” Cora chimes in dutifully.

            “I appreciate the offer.  We’ll see where things go with the plans to redecorate.  For now, let’s just try to enjoy dinner with the pack.”

            “Yes, Derek,” Cora and Damon reply in unison.

 

****************************************

 

Considering the fiasco of earlier, Derek feels the pack dinner is pretty successful.  Damon’s praised endlessly for the potato salad.  The burgers were excellent.  Damon and Cora play on the tire swing a while after Cora initializes the fun and Derek’s sure to show how happy the activity makes him.  

            Nevertheless, Derek’s exhausted by the time he climbs into bed with Isaac, still leaving a space between them big enough for Stiles to fit if he were here.  Isaac reaches a hand to take Derek’s, threading their fingers together, and Derek forces a smile at the contact.  

            “Salvaged a pretty good evening out of it,” Isaac says. “You were good with him.”

            “You, too.”

            “Learning curve for all of us; we’ll hit our stride eventually.”

            _Eventually…._

_God, I hope so._

 

******************************************************

 

            Stiles wakes in the early morning hours, too warm under the heavy comforter in Damon’s room.  He winces at the slight throbbing in his head as Damon’s experiences sift into place in his mind.  He reaches to turn on the bedside lamp, illuminating the blue post-it note Damon left from him.  The note is printed in careful lettering completely different from Stiles’ own, and reads simply, “Thank you, Stiles.  You’re very kind. - Damon”  He sighs at the sight, a bit a guilt churning in his stomach at the words.    

            “I’m not kind,” he mutters, “I just don’t want to keep being the broken little beta all the time.”

            He rises slowly from bed, trying to decide if he’s going to shower or have breakfast or try to go back to bed with Derek and Isaac.  In the end, he opts for making coffee.  Cora enters the kitchen just as he takes his first sip.  She frowns slightly at the sight of him.

            “Oh, hey, Stiles,” she says as she drops all submissive demeanor and moves past him toward the cabinet that holds the mugs.

            “You can tell just from looking at me?” he wonders; there’s something oddly comforting in that fact.

            “Damon never has anything but water before Derek’s awake,” she replies.  “And there’s creamer in your coffee,” she adds as she gets closer

            “Oh.”  

            “Yep.”

            “So my dad’s redecorating the house?” Stiles says, trying to avoid awakward silence.

            “Uh-huh.”

            “How is he?”

            “Who?”

            “My dad,” Stiles clarifies.  “I mean, I saw what Damon saw.  He was upset.  Pack dinner was four days ago though.  Since then has anything--I mean did someone check up and--”

            “Derek gave Lydia the credit card.   Lydia made a huge binder of what all the rooms are supposed to look like.  Scott and your dad have been scraping off old wallpaper and repainting and ripping up carpet and all that stuff,” she provides, and her voice softens as she adds, “The pack keeps an eye on him when you’re gone.  He’s family.”

            Stiles nods.  “You headed home soon?” he asks.  “Think you could drop me by the house?”

            “Yeah, sure.”

            He leaves a note for Derek and Isaac on the kitchen counter by the coffee pot.  The ride with Cora is quiet, but Stiles hums along to the Walk the Moon album she’s got playing off her iPod.  By the time they get to the house, the sun is fully up, which means Dad probably is, too.  Stiles realizes immediately that the changes Dad made weren’t just interior.  The house is sporting a fresh, pastel blue paint job with new navy shutters.  The front door is new too, pale yellow with a half-moon window at the top.

            “It _has_ only been four days, hasn’t it?” Stiles asks, staring up at the house.

            “Jackson hired a professional service for the exterior,” she replies.  “Derek didn’t want Scott or your dad breaking their necks on a ladder.  Also probably didn’t want to actually come do any work himself,” she supposes.

            “Right. Makes sense,” he replies absentmindedly. “Well, uh--thanks for the ride.  And for, ya know, everything with Damon,” he says as he opens the car door.  “I know. I know. You don’t do it for me,” he adds before she can.

            “The letter was good,” she replies.  “Doesn’t make all this bullshit you’re dumping on him _okay_ , but it was still good.”

            “See ya later.”

            “Later.”

            Stiles walks slowly up the front walk as Cora drives away.  He hesitates with his hand hovering over the doorknob, unsure if he should just go in or ring the doorbell.  When he tries the door, it’s locked, and he realizes he doesn’t have a key.  The corny looking lawn gnome they usually hide the spare under is gone, so Stiles reaches for the doorbell.

            “Just a sec!” he hears Dad yell.

            “No rush!” Stiles hollers back.  “Just me.”

            “Stiles?!” he can hear something drop to the floor and Dad’s hurried steps to get to the door.  It’s both reassuring and heartbreaking how glad Dad always is to see Stiles back after a switch.  As soon as Stiles steps over the threshold, Dad envelops him in a hug, but when he pulls away the usual grin isn’t on his face, though he’s clearly trying to look happy.

            “Like what you did with the place,” Stiles says, trying desperately to keep the tone casual as long as possible as he shuts the door behind him.  

            “Yeah, well, everybody’s been pitching in,” Dad replies, “Goes pretty quick. We’re just--ya know kind of aiming for anything that might--” the sentence chokes off as tears start to well up in his eyes, and Sad finishes quickly, “need updating.”

            “Dad, I’m so sorry.  I never meant to--”

            “You should have _told me_ , Stiles,” Dad interjects.  “We could’ve done this ages ago.  The minute you came home if you’d wanted.  At least it was something I could _do_.”

            “I didn’t want you to think I didn’t want to be here.  And--and it wasn’t as bad for me as it was Damon.  It really wasn’t; I swear.”

            “Even so,” Dad persists.  “There’s only so much I can do to help you, kiddo, but I want to do _whatever_ I can.  It’s not a bother.  It’s not inconvenient.  Dammit, it’s the only time I get to feel like I’m actually looking out for my kid these days.”

            “Don’t say that, Dad,” Stiles says, stepping forward to pull Dad close again.  “You’re always looking out for me.  I know you are.”

            “Well, it’d help if you would _tell_ me things instead of waiting until you something happens to set you off.”

            “I know; I’m working on it.  Damon’s taking a lot of the conditioning now; it makes a lot of stuff easier.”

            _It makes it easier to look at you and think father-son interaction instead of werewolf-human.  It makes it easier to come here without a packmate.  It makes it easier to forget what they did to me here._

“Well, that’s good at least,” Dad supposes, as Stiles pulls back from the hug.

            “So what’s on the agenda for the day?” Stiles wonders.  “Get me a paintbrush or a hammer or something.”

            “You don’t have to stay and help,” Dad says.  “Scott’s not going to be here until the afternoon. I can drive you back to the pack house.”

            “No, I can stay.”

            “Don’t push yourself on my account.”

            “I mean it, Dad,” Stiles replies.  “It doesn’t freak me out to be away, not as much, not since I’ve got Damon.”

            Dad studies Stiles’ face, trying to detect a lie, but there’s nothing to detect.  It’s the most relaxed Stiles has felt without a direct packmate present in _months._ He grins at dad to reassure him as he moves past him and further into the house.  “It’s Sunday, right? I think the Mets had a game at noon eastern time.  We can put it on the radio in the kitchen.  What color did Lydia pick for the kitchen?” he wonders looking back over his shoulder to see a genuine smile _finally_ gracing Dad’s face.

            “Well, _I’d_ just call it ‘white’ but apparently it’s ‘medici ivory’.  You know, because plain old white is just so _horribly basic_.”

Stiles laughs as Dad rolls his eyes, and for the first time in a long time Stiles thinks they might just have a shot at a pretty normal father-son day…             

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting second year of law school; so, as usual, I can't guarantee when the next update will be. Thank you for reading!!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for your patience between updates; life continues to be a bit overwhelming for both of us.

            Stiles hovers the pen over the notebook for a while, struggling to find words to write a note to leave for Damon.  He picks up the phone to call Cora for advice again, but he knows the call will only irritate her.  Besides, Damon’s part of Stiles, surely Stiles can jot down a few sentences to him without needing help.  He decides to build off of Cora’s advice from before, since it seemed to go over well.

            “Damon,” Stiles starts, “I wanted to thank you again for all you’ve done for the pack while I was away.  Helping them realize that changes to my dad’s house would make it a less stressful place for both of us has really been a good thing.  My dad’s enjoyed having the work to do, and I’ve been able to go over and help, which makes the bonds better, like Derek likes.  It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t communicated what was going on.  I know it’d probably really hard for you to figure out how to tell them about all these memories you get from me, but you’re doing a great job--better than me probably.  You’re really great with Cora, too; Derek says so all the time.  You’re a very good beta.  Don’t let the memories convince you otherwise.  This pack loves you.  Thank you again for everything, Damon.  Sincerely, Stiles.”

           

 

*************************************************

 

            “So tell me what this paper’s about again?” Stiles wonders, sitting opposite Isaac, who’s at the dinner table with all his materials spread out trying to figure out how the hell to organize his notes from class discussions into something cohesive enough for a ten page paper.  “Or if you’re in the zone, don’t worry about it,” Stiles adds, offering one brownie to Isaac with his left hand as he takes a bite of the other one in his right.  “Dude, I know I always say Derek’s latest round of brownies are the best yet, but it’s still true.  I’m gonna get some milk, you want some?” Stiles rambles, having yet to pause long enough to let Isaac explain the paper topic.

            “Sure.”

            “Be right back.”

            “Okay.”

            “Okay, so the class is Gender in Modern Europe?” Stiles calls from the kitchen.

            “Yeah.”

            “So I’m guessing this paper also has something to do with gender? And modern Europe?”

            “Anyone ever tell you you’re a genius?” Isaac wonders, rolling his eyes.  

            “Okay seriously,” Stiles says, re-entering the room with two glasses of milk.  “Tell me about the specific thing you’re--”

            The sentence cuts off as Stiles’ eyes go blank.  His face slackens, as does his hold on the glasses in his hand.  Isaac vaults over the table as the glasses begin to fall.  He manages to stop one glass from shattering, catching it inches from the floor, but the other slips through his fingers and smashes.  Stiles is beginning to sway where he stands, and Isaac uses his free hand to grab Stiles’ arm, slinging it across his shoulder to keep Stiles upright.  Isaac discards the surviving glass carelessly on the table, sloshing milk out over some of his notes, but he doesn’t linger on the realization.   Stiles is nothing but dead weight now, and Isaac scoops him up careful to dodge the glass and milk all over the floor; his barefeet would heal but it would stick suck.  He only makes it a few steps toward the couch in the den before Stiles’ body goes rigid in his arms, eyes wide in fright as he looks up to see who’s holding him.

            “Hey, it’s okay; you’re safe,” Isaac assures, trying to read the expression and discern which personality they’re dealing with, but he can’t quite tell.  

            “Th--thank you, Isaac.”

            Isaac lets out a sigh of relief at the sound of his name.  Damon is by no means Stiles, but it’s still much prefered to starting over at square one.

            “Damon?” he asks, just to be sure.

            “Yes, Isaac.  I can--can walk if you’d like me to.”

            “Oh, sure.  Okay.  Let me know if you feel a little unsteady,” Isaac says as he sets Damon down slowly.   “I thought Stiles was going to pass out so if you’re a little woozy that’s okay.”

            “I think I’m okay,” Damon says.  “I don’t feel woozy.  I can finish up whatever Stiles was working on.”

            Isaac smiles, hoping the melancholy he feels at the offer doesn’t show through in his expression.  “You’re always so quick to help, Damon.  You know you can take a few minutes.  Get your bearings.”

            “I don’t mind, Isaac.  I like helping.”

            “Stiles was just keeping me company while I worked on some homework.  Derek’s in town. ”

            Damon winces as Isaac speaks, hand darting up to his head.  

            “Are you sure you’re okay?” Isaac asks.

            “I think--” Damon says, words tapering into a whimper as he goes on, “I think memories are coming again, Isaac; I’m sorry; I won’t be very useful for--for a while, but when it stops I’ll--I can--”

            “It’s okay.  Don’t worry about being useful.  I know how badly your head hurts; don’t worry about anything else.  Take your time.  Come on; let’s get you to the couch, okay?”

            Isaac places gentle hands on Damon’s shoulders to guide him, and Damon moves easily, always pliant.  

            “Just sit until it passes, okay? Don’t worry about anything else yet.  There’s nothing pressing that you have to work on.  Don’t worry.”

            The words of comfort don’t seem like enough, but there’s not much else Isaac can do except sit next to Damon on the couch, hoping the presence is at least some kind of comfort.  It’s not long before the whimpers give way to shrieks.  Isaac’s heard this before, when Stiles’ mind restored the second round of memories.  It seemed to last eons then, and Isaac gets the feeling that Damon’s in for the same turmoil.  

            _I guess Stiles isn’t holding back anymore.  His mind’s ready to siphon off as much as it can._

 

**************************************

 

            Derek just barely picks up the sound of the car in the driveway over the piteous cries coming from Damon.  He glances out the window expecting Deaton or John, but instead it’s Cora’s car.

            “Shit,” he mutters, heading for the front door to try and intercept his sister before she gets in the house.

            “What the hell is going on?” Cora demands as she slams the car door behind her and sprints for the house.  

            Derek catches her mid-stride, holding her back from ascending the porch steps.

            “What’s wrong with you? He’s calling for you! Get your ass in there and--”

            “I can’t help him,” Derek answers gruffly, trying desperately to tune out the sound of Damon’s refrain for hours now: “Please, Derek! Please make it stop! I’ll be good, Derek, please!”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Get in there! Let go of me! If you’re not going to pull pain then I’m going to!”

“It’s not that simple--it’s--he’s getting memories.  You know that’s a different kind of--”

“No, the memory thing is quick,” she counters.  “I’ve seen him get memories; it’s--it’s not that long.  You texted me this afternoon to be ready for Damon tonight probably, but--but that was--it’s been hours! Something else is wrong.”

“It’s just memories,” Derek repeats tiredly.  “He’s getting more of them this time; it lasts longer.”

“More of them? How many more?”

“I don’t know? Most of them? All of them?”

Cora’s eye flare blue as she wrenches herself free of Derek’s grasp.  She doesn’t head for the house though, she storms in the other direction, whipping back around to face Derek as she rages, “I’m gonna fucking _murder_ Stiles when he gets back for--”

“Stiles went through this, too,” Derek interjects.  “And he doesn’t really have control over how all this works.  He’s not hurting Damon on purpose.”

“He quit therapy, didn’t he?”

“You’re not really in a position to judge people for not wanting to talk to therapists,” Derek reminds.  

“It’s different! Stiles has a responsibility to--to try and-- _do_ something or at least not make it worse when--ugh! This is so fucked up! I _hate_ this!”

“I know; it’s not fair.  I’m sorry I got you into the middle of--”

“Don’t apologize,” she dismisses, “who else were you going to ask.”

“Still.”

“There’s gotta be _something_ we can do,” Cora persists, looking past Derek toward the house.  “What’d you do before? With Stiles?”

“Waited it out,” Derek answers miserably, “but there’s no reason you have to stay and hear it, Cora.  I just meant to give you a heads up when I sent that text earlier; I didn’t mean for you to be here when he was still--”

“I’m staying,” she replies.  “He’s gonna need me when he wakes up.”

“I can call you as soon as--”

“I’m. staying,” she repeats determinedly.  “I’ve got some headphones in the car.  It’ll be fine.”

 

********************************************************************************

 

            When the pain, finally, _finally_ stops and the punishment seems to be over, Damon registers that he’s lying on something soft and his Alpha is speaking to him, but Damon can’t focus on the words, can’t listen, he’s not sure what happened or how he got here or what he’s supposed to be doing so he was probably making some kind of mistake and the Alpha will be furious and he’s going to be punished and--

            “Damon!”

            The shout momentarily silences all the chaos in Damon’s mind, and his eyes focus on the form of his Alpha hovering over him.  He keeps his eyes averted, and he tries desperately to keep still--he’s supposed to be _still_ and good unless the Alpha says otherwise---but the Alpha’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and his whole body tries to jerk away.

            “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to,” Damon swears.  “I’ll--I’ll be still.  I can be still. I know how to be good.  I missed--missed the instructions but I can make it up to you, please, Alpha, if you’ll tell me again.  I’ll do anything you like, Alpha.  I’ll be still.  I can be good.”

            “It’s okay,” the Alpha swears, “I know I scare you right now, Damon.  You can move away from me; you don’t have to be still.”

            “Y--yes, Alpha, I can run,” he answers, words out before he understands their full meaning, but his body reacts, like his muscles remember what to do, and he readies to dart away from the Alpha.

            “No,” Alpha contradicts, tightening his grip on Damon’s shoulder, and Damon can’t stop the wail that escapes him, knowing how trapped he is, that he doesn't dare pull away even though the Alpha is so obviously unhappy right now and he’s sure to rip Damon apart again and again, all night, reminding him how useful betas should behave, ensuring the lesson is so thoroughly taught he’ll never forget again.  

            “I’m sorry, that was reflex,” the Alpha says, releasing Damon’s arm.  “I didn’t mean to startle you, I just--I want to be clear, Damon, that I’m not asking you to--to run for me.  No one’s going to make you do anything; no one’s going to hurt you; it’s all just bad memories from Stiles’ time with the Alpha Pack.  It’s different here; you’re safe now.”

            _No, no that can’t be right; of course the Alpha will order me to be useful.  It’s why I’m kept.  I have to be useful.   The ludicrous words are a trick.  A test?_

            “I c--can be good, Alph; whatever you want.”

            “Can you--could you call me Derek, please?”

            “Derek, y--yes. I’m sorry; I know b-better.”

            _Derek. Derek,_ he turns the name over and over in his mind, but none of the terrorizing faces come to mind.   _They weren’t Derek.  Derek is different.  Derek is good to me.  Derek doesn’t hurt._

            “It’s okay; you got a lot of memories, Damon.  I’m so sorry you have to deal with that. It’s important to me that you know it’s a symptom of all the switching between you and Stiles.  That pain wasn’t a punishment; I’m not ever going to hurt you like that I promise.”

            “I w--wouldn’t mind; I want to be good.”

            “I know, Damon.  You are good.  You’re a very good beta.  I’m so sorry I can’t pull the rest of the pain away.  Is it getting less though? Going away?”

            “Y--yes.  I’m okay, Derek. I can m-manage.  I can do whatever you--”

            “Don’t worry about being useful; you’re useful just by being here, okay? You can work on things later, just give your mind some time to settle for now.  Take all the time you need.  I know I’m intimidating right now; I just wanted to make sure you know you’re with _my_ pack now, not the pack from those memories.  You’re safe with me, okay?”

            “Th-thank you, Derek.”

“I think maybe I’ll give you some space, so you can get your bearings, but I’m close by if you need anything at all, me and Isaac both.  We’re just going to be out on the back porch, okay?  You’re not in trouble or separated from the pack or anything; I promise.  And Cora’s here, she’s--”

 

**********************************************

 

            Derek’s completely unprepared for Damon’s reaction to mention of Cora.  His already wild, terrified eyes go impossibly wider, as he instantly begs, “No, Derek, no, please! Not Cora, please! _Please_.”

            “Okay, okay,” Derek agrees, grateful that in Damon’s confusion all he’s taken in is Derek’s face above him, and not the fact that Cora is standing off to the side with Isaac, watching the scene.  Derek wants to glance over at her, but doesn’t dare draw Damon’s attention.  “But I don’t understand,” Derek goes on.  “What’re you afraid of? Are you scared of Cora? She won’t hurt you.”

            “No, _I_ don’t wanna hurt Cora,” Damon explains, clearly panicking at the thought.  “If it’s--it’s really okay to want things, pl--please, Derek?” he implores,  “I don’t wanna hurt Cora.”

            “I will never, _ever_ ask you to do that Damon,” Derek swears.  “I will never ask you to hurt _anyone_.”

            “You’re so good to us, Derek, but they’re so loud,” Damon answers, reaching his hand up to clamping his hands over his ears.  It seems that as the memories faded the voices took their place.    “They--they’re so loud and they say--they say things that you wouldn’t like, and want me to do things you wouldn’t like--and they won’t _stop_.  Please, make it stop? _Please._ ”

            “With the medicine?”

            “Please, Derek, please; I’ll make up to the time for you; I’ll be good when I wake up, I just--”

            “You don’t have to make it up to me; I’m happy to help however I can, okay? Isaac is going to go get it and be right back.  I’m right here with you until he brings it.  Don’t listen to what the voices tell you.  You’re not going to have to hurt anyone.  I promise.”

            “Thank you, Derek,” Damon whimpers as he shuts his eyes tightly, still covering his ears though there’s no way it can help.  “I’m here now; I’m here; Derek’s pack; Hale pack; it’s not a dream; I belong here; this pack doesn’t hurt people; it’s different here; Hale pack; I’m Hale pack; it’s different here; my Alpha is different here.”

            Damon keeps muttering contradictions to the voices, and Derek murmurs reassurances to Damon, unsure of how much the beta can even hear him.  With Damon’s eyes shut tight, Derek’s free to look over at Cora now.  Tears stream down her face, but he can tell from the firm set of her jaw that she’s more furious than distraught right now.  He’s not sure if her anger is for the long-dead Alphas Damon is arguing with or if she’s angry with Stiles for creating Damon to cope with it all.  Either way, Derek feels like he’s failed his little sister by dragging her right into the middle of the shitstorm.  

            _I’m sorry, Cora; I didn’t know we were headed here.  I didn’t know you were going to get sucked in this deep.  I thought it would just be cooking some dinners together and doing a few chores.  I didn’t think he’d be this bad; I didn’t think you’d be this invested._

 

******************************

 

            Damon wakes slowly, unwilling to open his eyes just yet, but in the next instant it registers that there is hand holding his.  He jerks his hand away from the unwanted contact, limbs heavy from the lingering sedation, and too groggy to fully wake.

            “It’s okay, Damon; it’s just me. I’m sorry.  I won’t touch you if you don’t want.”

            “Cora,” he murmurs, as he recognizes the voice and opens his eyes to find her face, but everything seems a bit blurry, and he can’t focus on her.  “No, Cora, run,” he implores, words coming out slurred.

            “Run? I don’t need to run.  We’re in Derek’s house, remember? We’re safe.  It’s different here.”

            “I’m not.”

            “Not what? Not safe? Of course you--”

            “Not different,” Damon whines, “Not safe.”

            “Damon, I don’t understand what’s worrying you.  You don’t feel safe? Because of the memories? I want to help you feel safe. Tell me how to help.”

            “No, _you_ aren’t safe,” Damon answers, still struggling to emerge fully from the drugs.  “I don’ wanna hurt you,” he adds.

            “You won’t hurt me.  You understand the rules here.  Derek explained, remember? He won’t ask you to hurt me.”

            “But the Alphas in my head are so much louder,” Damon confesses, raising leaden arms to cover his ears, sure the din of voices will start again any minute.  “And they taught me how to hurt betas like you,” he croaks.

            “Oh,” Cora replies, quiet a moment.

            “You’re not safe,” Damon continues, wishing she would just _go_ like he told her to.

            _I’m a higher beta.  She should listen. She should know her place.  I’ll have to teach her.  She has to--_

 “It’s not safe,” Damon warns, trying desperately to derail the violent thoughts running through his mind.  “These memories--I know how to--I’m going to hurt you, Cora, you have to be taught and---I’ll---I don’t want to do what they taught me--not to you, but they’re in my head--the voices and the memories and--and you have to go f-find Derek or Isaac. T--tell them to bring m-more medicine,” Damon begs, sitting up in the bed as the sedation wears off, wondering if he could dart to the door before Cora could stop him; maybe he could just lock her in here.

            “You won’t hurt me, Damon.”

            “I’ll teach you like they taught me and it’s not--Derek won’t like it--and--and I don’t want to hurt you.”

            “I trust you,” Cora replies idiotically. “You know the rules here.  You’re Hale pack now; you’re a good beta!”

            “I’m a weapon!” he spits back, contradiction hanging in the air before he can stop it or the words that follow,  “Best weapon in the world for bringing Derek Hale to his knees!” he adds, words from one of the countless memories coming to the surface, and he claps his hand over his mouth before he starts blurting more of the horrible things he heard from previous alphas.  

            “What?”

            _Such a well trained little monster.  You don’t even need us there to give you orders.  You know what to do, how to mangle the humans and terrorize the betas and do all the twisted, vile things that Derek Hale would never have in his pack.  A little ticking time bomb to rip apart everything the Hale Pack stands for.  You know what to do, beta, you know the sound of their shrieks and the feel of their flesh parting under your claws, and the tight heat that surrounds your aching cock when you force your way inside…_

“No! I won’t! I won’t! It’s different here; I won’t! I won’t hurt anybody! Derek doesn’t like it. He doesn't want me too. I won’t do that! I won’t! I’m Derek’s beta now; I wanna be good; Good for _Derek_! I don’t wanna be a weapon! You can’t make me! I won’t!  It’s different here!”

 

******************************

 

            Isaac listens intently alongside Derek, sitting on the bottom step together in their worry, as Cora attempts to convince Damon that he can overcome the bombardment of memories and voices plaguing his mind now.  Isaac honestly isn’t sure, but he agreed it was worth a shot.  Nevertheless, Derek and Isaac wait, leaning on each other physically as much as emotionally, tired already but poised to act.  They start slowly up the stairs when Damon’s words start to become incoherent, mindless mantra statements, and Isaac’s blood runs cold at the sound of Cora shrieking Derek’s name.

            _Oh God, he really did hurt her._

In the few moments it takes them to top the stairs and rush into Damon’s room, Damon is already covered in blood as he carves at every inch of his own skin he can reach.  Cora’s trying desperately to stop him, but he just shoves her away again and again as he opens up new wounds that he doesn’t allow to heal.  

_Not hurting her; hurting himself.  But why??_

            “Derek, do something!” Cora cries.

            “I won’t be a weapon; I won’t; I won’t,” Damon sobs.  “Loyal to this pack now; loyal ‘til death! It’s different here.  I’m won’t be a weapon!”

            “Damon, stop!” Derek orders in his thunderous Alpha tone, and Damon freezes, one hand holding Cora away and the other with claws still lodged in his torso.

            “I’m so sorry, Derek,” he wails. “I’m trying; they’re so loud!  I don’t wanna be a weapon.  I wanna be _your_ beta; I wanna be _good_!”

            “I know, Damon; I know.  You’re good.  You are.  We’re gonna help you, okay? We’ll figure everything out. Together. But Damon, can you please let yourself heal?”

            “Y--yes, b--but it’s not safe, Derek.”

            “You’re safe here, Damon; I swear to you.”

            “NO--no you don’t understand you have to _stop me_ , Derek, _please,_ ” he sobs. 

“I’m never going to ask you to hurt anyone,” Derek reminds.

“I don’t want to Derek, but--but they taught me how and now I remember and I was _a weapon,_ Derek, they said so.  They _made me so I could hurt you._ And I did all those things they wanted--I didn’t mean it but I hurt those people--humans and betas and--and I know I’m not supposed to here but--but I _could_ and the voices are all--they say--they say I should still---”

Isaac takes in the confession, remembering all too well Stiles’ first few full moons and how terrified he was at the thought of hurting anyone.  He remembers, too, the taunts of the Alphas when they recaptured Stiles, telling Derek what an excellent distraction Stiles had made.

_And now we’re going to have to do it again--convince him that he’s stronger than the conditioning; convince him that we’d stop him if we had to, but also try not to terrify him--But Damon isn’t Stiles. Does Damon have the fortitude to counter the voices and the memories? Does he have that part of Stiles in him?  God, this is all so complicated.   How the hell do we help him?_

“I won’t let you hurt anyone,” Derek promises, tending to Damon’s present crisis while Isaac panics over the big picture.  “I won’t order it, and I’ll help you control yourself, okay?  We’ll work on it, okay? Please don’t hurt yourself, Damon.  I promise you I won’t let you hurt anyone.  I’m so proud that you _don’t_ want to hurt anyone.  But please don’t hurt yourself either.”

“Y--yes, Derek.”

“Will you let me pull some of your pain?” Derek asks.

“I d-don’t deserve--”

“You don’t have to earn it, Damon; we _want_ to help you,” Isaac chimes in.  “Please? If you don’t mind us touching you.”

“Of c-course not; what--whatever you like; I’ll be still,” he answers too readily.

“I can do it if you’d rather,” Cora offers, but Damon barks out a “No!” almost instantly.

“We’re not going to hurt you, and you don’t have to be still,” Derek reminds as he slowly reaches for the arm Damon is using to hold Cora away.  “We just want to help you heal.”  Isaac’s eager to help too, and leech the pain so the slashes and gouges will close faster, but Damon trembles visibly just from the minimal contact with Derek so Isaac decides to sit this round out.  “You’re a good beta, Damon.”

“I don’t want to be a weapon, Derek,” he says miserably, tears still streaming from his eyes.  

“I know; you don’t have to worry about that,” Derek soothes.  “We’ll look out for you just like we looked out for Stiles when he first came back to the pack. Can you--can you give me your other hand, too, please?” he adds, requesting the arm that Damon seems to have forgotten is still lodged in his flesh.  

Damon looks down in renewed horror, and then back up to Derek with terror-filled eyes as he croaks, “Stiles.”

“What?” Derek asks, looking back to Isaac in confusion, but Isaac doesn’t understand either.   Unless…

“Stiles?” Isaac repeats, half asking for an explanation and half wondering if Stiles has come back in the midst of this insanity and is correcting them.  

“I didn’t mean to hurt him! How could I be so stupid and careless and--- this-this is Stiles’ body too and--and if he wakes up--I’ll heal as fast as I can, Derek I promise.  I didn’t mean to hurt him; I--” 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.  Heal fast for yourself, Damon.  You matter just as much as Stiles,” Isaac reminds.  

“Don’t worry; you’re not in trouble.  It’s okay,” Derek adds.  

 

*********************

 

            The voices in Damon’s mind are quick to counter his new Alpha’s kind words.   _No, it’s not okay, none of it’s okay_.   _The Hale Pack will never be okay again.  We made sure of that when we shattered Stiles to pieces and shaped him into the pathetic beta you are.  You’re nothing but a ticking clock, counting time from one disaster to the next.  Maybe next time you’ll rip open your Alpha’s little sister instead of his husband; maybe you’ll rend the flesh of a human, watch them bleed out because they can’t heal.  Ruin and chaos follow you everywhere, Beta; we designed you that way.  Our well-trained, irreparable weapon._

 

_*************************************_

 

Damon doesn’t seem to hear any of their voices over the din in his head, sobbing out pitiful contradictions to what are clearly hateful, agonizing accusations and suggestions from the now-dead monsters that tortured Stiles.  Derek’s rage never wains at the fact that the bastards can still reach Stiles from beyond the grave, a constant reminder of all this things he couldn’t protect Stiles from, and _still_ can’t protect Stiles from.  They try desperately to pull Damon back to the present and away from his mental anguish, but nothing seems to break through.  After nearly half an hour of trying, they call Deaton to double check the dosage limits on the sedation.  It doesn’t seem like an adequate solution, but Derek has to hope it offers Stiles’--Damon’s--mind a little reprieve at least.    

_What else can we do? How do we help him?_

_Why can’t he ever just have some peace?_

 

_************************************_

           

“Damon? Are you awake? Can you hear me?” Cora’s voice wonders, and he struggles to open his eyes, to tell her to get out, to shut the door, to lock it.  She doesn’t understand what he could do to her, and they’re finally friends.  He doesn’t want to hurt her. Not Cora.  Cora’s so good to him, and such a good beta too.

“Not safe.”

“Don’t be afraid, okay? You’re not gonna hurt me. I’m safe.  There’s a mountain ash line; you can’t get to me.”

He finally manages to open his eyes, but the blurry world takes a moment or two more to focus.  He realizes that Cora is sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, blocked off by thick black lines of ash.  Some of the crushing terror ebbs away, and the voices aren’t back yet, so he sits up to face her, clasping his hands together in his lap to try and keep the trembling in check.  

“H-how angry is Derek?” he wonders. “I--I needed medicine twice and--and I--I hurt Stiles, and--”

“He’s not angry,” Cora promises.  “He just wants to make sure you’re okay.  He thought maybe I’d be easier for you to talk to after all the memories you got. But he’s downstairs if you want him.  Just call.”

“I should go do something; I should be useful,” Damon replies.  “If I’ve been asleep and you’ve been stuck in the corner then--then no one’s made food for them or--”

“I went out and brought back food from Caroline’s; they’ve eaten; don’t worry.”

Damon can’t help but smile at the words closing his eyes as he relaxes, if just for a moment.  “You’re a very good beta, you know,” he tells her.  

_I’m glad Derek likes us being friends.  You’re a good friend too._

“Then can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“If you think I’m a good beta, why are you afraid of hurting me?”

He frowns at the words, unsure how to explain any of it.  He’s not sure he should.  How much do they know about how vicious Stiles was with the Alpha Pack? What might Derek do if he finds out what a liability Damon is?  More than anything he wants to be kept, but if Derek thinks Damon is a threat, he’ll have to do something; he’ll have to lock Damon away or worse actually _send_ him away from the pack house.

_Maybe he should; he would be right to; I’m dangerous; I know how to be dangerous._

“Damon?” Cora says, breaking into his thoughts. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he answers, clasping his hands together.

“I just want to understand.”

“All you need to understand is that--that you have to be careful of me.  I’m not safe,” Damon answers finally, reluctant to admit all the horrible things he could do; Cora shouldn’t have to hear all the nightmarish memories Stiles has given him.  She has enough bad memories of her own.

““Is it--is it like with the memory of Isaac?” she prods.  “You were worried what Derek would think if you said something bad about him?  Are you worried you shouldn’t tell me? Or that you’ll be in trouble for sharing?”

Damon doesn’t answer, just bites nervously at his lip, wishing he hadn’t given her permission to start the questions in the first place.

“Would it help if--if I said that Stiles already told Derek that they--they used him as a weapon?” Cora wonders.

“What?” Damon blurts.

_They already know? How could they keep me--us--if they know what a weapon we are?  Derek’s a wonderful Alpha but--but surely his acceptance and mercy end somewhere.  Is it really possible that he already knows and kept us anyway?_

_Oh, please.  Please, please.  It’s impossible, but I still want it to be true._

“Stiles has told Derek before that the Alpha Pack trained him to be a weapon.  He told them about it when he first came back to the pack, so that Derek could make sure he didn’t hurt anyone.”

Damon stares in disbelief, looking for some sign that Cora’s lying, but her eyes are wide and earnest as she stares at him across the line of ash.  He thinks she might reach to hold his hand if the barrier weren’t there.  

“And--and how did Derek m-make sure of that?” Damon asks quietly.

 _Did he just send him away sometimes? Maybe they can use the mountain ash to keep me apart without having to make me leave the pack house? Whatever the answer is, he let Stiles stay in the pack.  He let us stay.  We can stay._   

“Derek just kept Stiles close, and he had the rest of the pack help too,” she replies.  “Like  on the full moon, the whole pack stayed together so that if Stiles got overwhelmed with the conditioning and tried to hurt anyone they could stop him.”

“Derek k-kept him close,” Damon repeats in disbelief.

            _But I’m not Stiles.  I’m not as important as Stiles. What if--_

“He’ll do the same thing for you,” Cora says, as if she can read Damon’s mind.  “He’ll keep you close as long as you need; he’ll help contradict the voices.  We all will.  He’d be up here now, but he knows you got other memories.  Memories of the alphas hurting you.  So Derek and Isaac thought they might be too intimidating, but they’ll come if you want; or you can go downstairs, and they’ll be there.  They won’t let you hurt anybody while you’re trying to figure out how to quiet down the voices. They can tell you how the voices are wrong.”

            “I don’t want to be a burden,” Damon replies, last word coming out in a croak.

            “You’re not, Damon.  They _want_ to help you,” Cora replies.  “Derek likes to do things that make his pack happy.  So it’s not being a burden. Plus, you can still do all the things you usually do around the house, that’s useful.”

            “B--but you should still be careful,” Damon persists.

            “I trust you, Damon.”

            “You shouldn’t.”

            _I’m a weapon._

 

**************************************

Isaac can hardly stand to watch how completely Damon is coming apart, like everything he learned in his past times spent with the pack are unraveling and all he can do is grasp futilely at the shreds.  He’s not back to square one, not entirely, but in a way it makes it worse, because when he automatically falls to his knees or calls Derek “Alpha” by mistake or launches into a frantic apology, Damon always realizes too late that he wasn’t supposed to react that way.  It seems to only add another layer of palpable anxiety to Damon’s already timorous nature.  

And yet, at the same time, flashes of the fearsome beta Stiles was trained to be continue to show through.  Damon snaps harshly at Cora, criticizing and threatening her before apologizing profusely in the next instant.  More than once Derek and Isaac have rushed in at the sound of Damon’s raised, wrathful, voice but so far he hasn’t _actually_ done anything to hurt her--not physically anyway.

“I told you to _get the fuck out of this kitchen!_ ” Damon’s voice thunders, reaching Derek and Isaac where they sit on the back porch.  “You’re slowing me down; you’re in the way; get _out_ before I rip you to---no--no, Cora, I didn’t--didn’t mean to frighten you--y--you’re a good beta, I just--just need--please go ask Derek for something else to do.”

Cora appears on the back porch a few moments later, casting only a brief glance toward Isaac and Derek before walking past them and on out into the yard.  Isaac grabs Derek’s hand and pulls him up with him from the swing as he rises.  

“Cora, wait,” Isaac calls, and she turns to glare at him despite the tears welling in her eyes.

“I’m fine.  I have a thick enough skin to handle it.”

“I know,” Isaac replies.  “I just want to talk to you a minute.”  He glances back toward the house hoping the ‘while Damon isn’t listening’ is implied enough.

They don’t walk far, they’d still be able to hear if Damon raised his voice.  Still, if they keep their words to a whisper they shouldn’t be heard from inside the house, especially not with Damon wrapped up in his own thoughts.

“Maybe you should take a break; go home for a while?” Derek suggests to his sister.  “It’s stressing both of you out to try and work together right now, and--”

“Actually, I think it’s kind of important you stay, Cora,” Isaac interjects.  “If you’re up to it,” he adds, not wanting to seem callous to her struggle.

“What?” Derek and Cora ask in unison.

“He’s a mess around me,” Cora argues, barely keeping her voice quiet and even.  “Usually he can be calm and talk a little bit, but today he’s jumpy and conditioned and everything I do seems to make it worse.”

“Maybe put some distance between you,” Isaac suggests.  “Work on something else, like he told you to.  I just feel like his relationship with you is _really_ important, now more than ever.”

“We already knew he liked me, but I stress him out now, so--”

“It’s more than that; you realize that today, even with all the conditioning he got that insists friendship isn’t part of a wolf pack, he worried about you?  At the first mention of your name, he had enough courage to tell Derek what he wanted; we all know how rare it is to get him to admit to things he prefers or wants even on a good day, much less with the bombardment of torture he got today.  He’s worried the conditioning will make him hurt you; he wants you to be safe.  He always worries about his relationship with Derek because Derek is his Alpha, but for him to worry about a relationship that serves no purpose based on what the Alpha pack taught him about how packs work--I just feel like that’s a pretty big deal, ya know? I feel like it’s a little bit of himself showing through the conditioning, and I think we should try to encourage him to keep prioritizing a friendship over the conditioned relationships Stiles was trained to prioritize. Right?”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Derek agrees.  “It is a really big step for him to focus on a friendship.”  He looks over at Cora, clearly trying to gauge her emotional state.  “But you matter just as much as Damon does.  I know this isn’t easy on you.”

“No,” she agrees tiredly, “but it’s manageable.”

“If you need a break--”

“I know.  I’m fine.  I’m going to go work on the laundry or something,” she declares with a sigh.  

“Cora,” Derek calls as she heads toward the house, and she turns to face them with a mildly annoyed expression.  “Thank you,” Derek says earnestly, and his sister’s gaze softens a bit.

“Sure,” she says, shrugging off the gratitude and resuming her walk back to the house.  

Derek leans in toward Isaac, seeking contact as he lets his head drop down onto Isaac’s shoulder.  They stand for a moment or two in silence.  Isaac wishes he had something to say that could make this easier, but there aren’t words for days like these, not really.  

“I’m here,” he says finally, running fingers through Derek’s hair.  “I got your back while you’ve got his.”

“I never know if I’m making it worse or better,” Derek mutters miserably, breath hot against Isaac’s neck.  

“Better,” Isaac answers firmly.  “You’ve heard Stiles talk about it; you’ve heard what Damon says; everything here is better than any of those memories he just got slammed with.  We’ll get back to a better place.  It’ll be okay.”

 _Tomorrow will be better...._   

 

************************************************************  

 

            “You look tired, Damon,” Derek comments when he walks in the kitchen.

            “No, Alph--Derek, I’m awake!” he counters, falling to his knees automatically and then gripping desperately at the counter as he remembers Derek doesn’t care for that.  “I’m paying attention; I’m ready for whatever you--”

            “I didn’t mean it as a criticism,” Derek assures.  “I just meant you’ve had a rough couple days and you’ve gotten a lot done today.  I think maybe you should go to bed.”

            “Y--yes, Derek, of course,” Damon answers, looking between the dishes he hasn’t finished putting away and the way leading out of the kitchen as though he isn’t sure when he’s to act on the direction.

            “You can finish putting them away in the morning,” Derek replies.  “There’s no rush.”

            “Yes, Derek.”

            “But just to be clear, Damon, it’s not an order; you don’t have to go to bed if you don’t want to.”

            Admittedly, Derek knows damn well that the likelihood of Damon doing anything other than what was suggested is very slim.  Nevertheless, there are  dark circles under Damon’s exhausted eyes, and Derek worries that with all the stress of the day sleep-deprivation will rachet this whole clusterfuck of a scenario up another notch or two.  

            “I’m glad to, Derek,” Damon replies, conveying that despite Derek’s clarification he certainly still views this as a weighty request if not an outright order.

            He finished storing the casserole dish in his hands in the cabinet but hesitates when he goes to leave the kitchen.  “W--which bed should I go to, Derek?” Damon wonders.

            “Your bed, Damon; go up to your room,” Derek replies, “and, I really do just mean go to bed; I’m not--not asking for anything else; I just want you to get some rest.”

 

*********************************************

 

            _It’s a trap,_ Thomas’ voice says in response to Derek’s kind words.   _You know this game, Beta.  You’ve played it, not well, but I attempted to teach you--you were much more suited to be Alec’s, but you served well enough for me, too._

“P--please, Derek,” Damon says instantly, because he _does_ know this game; he has the memories to understand it now.  

“Please what?” Derek replies.

“P--please,” Damon starts again, but his knees give out, whether from nerves or good training he isn’t sure.  Derek’s face twists in momentary displeasure, but Damon can fix that.  He knows how.  He can be good.  He moves toward Derek, still on his knees.  Derek takes a step back.

“I’ll do anything you’ll let me, Alpha, _please;_ I--I n--need it,” he manages finally.

 _Thomas is right.  I’m not good at this.  He’s going to have to teach me to be better at it.  Maybe if he sees I’m trying it will be enough,_ Damon reasons, trying not to allow his mind to skip ahead to all that comes next.   _Your purpose is to please your Alpha,_ Thomas reminds, _and he wants to hear you beg for it, beta.  Let me hear you beg!_

“What?” Alpha says, taking another step back.

_I’m not doing enough. It’s not enough._

Damon throws himself at his Alpha’s feet as he offers frantically, “I need y--you to make me useful, _please_ , Alpha; claim me or use my mouth or let me--”

“Stop,” the Alpha barks, retreating even further.   “I don’t want that, Damon; I _just_ told you that I didn’t!”

“Please, Alpha, _please_ g--give me the privilege of--”

“Stop talking!” the Alpha thunders, and Damon cowers back from the sound of the alpha tone, just barely managing to remain still but trembling on the floor instead of retreating from the furious sound.

_I’m still no good at this game.  He’s going to rip me apart.  Oh God, he’s so angry.  This won’t be quick._

_Maybe if I stay still; maybe if I’m still ready and quick to follow the next directions, he’ll know I don’t mean to be so stupid._

 

****************************************

 

“What’s going on?” Isaac asks,  entering the kitchen with Cora just behind him.  

Derek looks like he might vomit.  Damon’s on the floor and seems seconds away from another breakdown.  

“What was he talking about? Why’d you tell him to stop talking?”

“He thinks I want sex, so he keeps offering…” Derek replies with a grimace.  “Damon, that’s not what I meant when I said go to bed.  I just want you to get some sleep, that’s all.  You understand?”

“You told him not to talk,” Isaac points out when Damon doesn’t reply, although from the sound of it Damon’s on the edge of a panic attack and might not be capable of talking right now anyway.  

“It’s okay now, Damon,” Derek clarifies.  “I just meant I wanted you to stop offering all that--okay?”

“I--I don’t understand,” Damon answers miserably.  “I’m s--sorry I’m so ss-stupid, Alpha.”

“Derek,” Cora corrects gently, stepping past Isaac and approaching Damon slowly, crouching to be more on his level.  “His name is Derek, remember?” she asks as Derek backs farther away to give her space to step in.   “You know where you are Damon? You remember things are different here? I know it’s been a long day.  Try not to let the memories bleed together.  Derek’s different.  It’s different here.”

Damon’s eyes narrow as he gazes at her, but Cora doesn’t stop moving toward him.  “You’re Hale Pack now; focus on those memories.  Even just the ones from today.  We made lunch with that recipe you--”

“You!” Damon growls at her.  “You distracted me and slowed me down today!” In the next instant Damon lunges at Cora, pinning her to the kitchen floor with one clawed hand at her throat drawing blood as his grip tightens.  “This is _your_ fault!” he declares angrily as she struggles but Derek’s bone-chilling growl in the next instant sends Damon scattering back from Cora.  

Derek and Isaac both move to assist Cora, but she waves them away, moving instead toward Damon who’s now sobbing as he mutters over and over, “I didn’t mean it; I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Cora assures, reaching out a hand that Damon shrinks away from with a whimper.

“Please don’t touch me. I c-can’t.”

“Okay, that’s okay,” Cora replies, instantly retracting her arm.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he wails, looking past her to Derek to repeat, “I swear I didn’t Derek.  I was confused.  I know you don’t like it, they just--they trained me differently and I--there are so many memories and the voices are so loud. What am I supposed to _do?_ ”

“It’s okay, Damon; you have a lot to process.  You’re not in trouble.  No one’s going to hurt you,” Derek promises.  

“No one’s angry,” Cora adds.  “It was a misunderstanding--an accident.”

“I hurt you,” Damon repeats again.  “I told you I was dangerous, Cora; I _told_ you it wasn’t safe.”

“Barely a scratch,” Cora says dismissively, though she reaches for a kitchen towel to put against the claw marks on her neck as they begin to heal.  

Damon lifts a trembling hand toward her, like a slow motion high-five.  

“I can pull the pain away,” he offers.

“It’s okay; contact bothers you right now.  Don’t worry about it.”

“A l--little is okay,” he persists.  

Cora moves her hand slowly to his, letting their palms rest together but making no effort to hold onto Damon in any way.  Damon tenses at the initial touch, but relaxes after a moment, despite the black tendrils running up his arms.  

“You two can do whatever,” Cora says to Derek and Isaac.  “We’re okay now.”

“I’m not safe,” Damon counters.  “I--”

“They’ll still be close if we need them.  Don’t worry, Damon.  I trust you.  I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

 

**************************************************

 

Damon continues to pull pain until Cora’s wounds heal entirely.  He doesn’t understand why she’s taking the risk of staying with him like this, but he’s grateful nevertheless.  

_Why are you so good to me, Cora? How can you still trust me?_

They don’t move from their spot on the kitchen floor even after her neck is healed, but Damon does retract his hand.  

“See?” Cora says, removing the towel from her neck and revealing unblemished new skin.  “Good as new.”

Damon nods, but he can’t return her lighthearted smile.  

“What’s the matter?” Cora asks.

“I hate this,” Damon answers.  

“Hate what?”

“That they’re in my head; messing up a good pack; telling me to hurt you and giving me reasoning that says we should be completing instead of friends--reasoning that says Derek’s not as kind of an Alpha as I know he is,” Damon tells her, words unstoppable once he starts to voice his misery.  “These memories are ruining everything.  Runing _me_.  I can be a good beta--I was learning--and now I forget and--they taught me to do everything Derek hates; to automatically do the opposite of anything he would want from a beta; and it puts everything at risk and makes everything harder and burdens the pack b--but he c-an’t k--kill me b--because Stiles n--needs this b--body, too,” Damon goes on, sobbing into his hands.   “A--and those old Alphas are w--winning--b--because of me,  B--because that was the p--plan all along to make me so I w--would b-be a b--burden on Derek and m--make him unhappy and m-mess everything up and be a liability to the p-pack.”

_They knew he loves Stiles too much to just get rid of me. That would be the answer to all this--to get rid of me. But he can’t.  He’s stuck with a broken, stupid beta who can’t behave properly._

“Shhh,” Cora soothes.   “I know that’s how you feel, Damon.  I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.” She offers a hand toward him, and Damon wishes he could take it instead of just shrinking back. He can’t stand the idea of anyone holding onto him right now--now even Cora.  

“I’ve never had as crazy a transition as you, but I can tell you that trying to make sure you fit into a new pack is scary as hell in the best of circumstances,” she tells him.  “You really are doing a great job with everything, better than Derek expected.  You’re _not_ the weapon they wanted you to be.  You’re not some feral werewolf killing everything and acting on all the impulses you get from your old training.  You’re trying _really_ hard and you’re already a good part of this pack.  That’s only gonna get better from here while you learn to live with those memories and block out the voices, okay?  You’re not a weapon, you’re an asset; just got a few issues to work through.”

Damon shakes his head, appreciating the sentiment but nevertheless unconvinced by her words.  She seems to realize he can’t accept all the praise she’s trying to bestow; she shouldn’t be surprised; Damon doesn’t deserve any praise.  It’s a testament to Derek’s mercy that he still hasn’t been punished or sent away.  

“Derek?” Cora calls.

“You shouldn’t bother the Alpha!” Damon hisses, fear and annoyance bubbling up at her idiotic move.

“He won’t mind; trust me,” she replies.

“Yes?” Derek answers.

“Could you maybe come back for a second?”

“Cora!” Damon scolds.

“I don’t mind, Damon,” Derek says as he reenters the kitchen.  “It’s okay.”

“W--we didn’t mean to inconvenience you, Alph--Derek.”

“It’s no trouble at all.  Did you need something, Cora?” Derek replies patiently.

_Impossibly patient.  Impossibly good._

_And they trained me to ruin it all for him._

“Can I ask a question?” she wonders.

“Always.”

“What do you think of how Damon’s been doing since he got all those memories?”

Damon growls at the words.  “Mind your own business!” he hisses at Cora before assuring Derek, “I’ll learn to be better, Derek; I promise you I’ll--”

“I think Damon is doing an excellent job,” Derek interrupts, and Damon stops talking, mouth falling open in disbelief.  “I’ll admit I was listening,” he goes on, “because like Cora told you, we did this for Stiles, and we’re going to stay close to you while you learn how to tune out the conditioning, Damon.  I heard what she just told you, and I agree with all of it.  You’re _not_ the weapon they wanted you to be; they’re _not_ winning.  Because you’ve still got a good heart, and you still care very much about your pack, and not just me, your _friends_.  I’m so proud of you for fighting their conditioning and working so hard to be the kind of beta that fits into a family pack; I’m sure it would be much easier to just listen to the voices all the time. You’re much stronger than you realize, and a very, _very_ good beta,” Derek declares.  

Damon can’t find words to respond, nothing he can say or do will be enough to convey to Derek what the words mean to him.  His chest swells with pride as his eyes well with tears.

“I--I’m going to keep fighting the conditioning,” Damon asserts, glancing up at Derek’s face and drinking in the sight of the proud smile on his Alpha’s face. “I’m Hale Pack now.”

“That’s right,” Derek agrees.   

_I’m Hale Pack now.  I’m not going to be their weapon.  I’m Hale Pack._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the update! Hopefully we'll have another up soon-ish but there's lots of busy weeks coming (exciting busy though!) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> As you perhaps know, we're both in school now, and life is insane, so we can't give you any specific schedule of updates. The lucky thing is there's at least only so much I can do in the way of cliffhangers given that you know how the story ends now :P small consolation I hope?
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Discovering (The Damon Excerpts) [FANART/GIFSET] I'm Hale Pack Now](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6996787) by [Loup_Aigre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loup_Aigre/pseuds/Loup_Aigre)




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